Family Men
by TheAllPowerfulOz
Summary: Side story to Fast Cars, centers on Malik and Hadiya… Modern AU
1. Chapter 1

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_Contains mentions of yaoi and slight spoilers for Fast Cars. Enjoy!_

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**Chapter 1; Know Your Enemy**

Malik knew the second Altair and Ezio had stepped into Desmond's hospital room, that there had been a major leap forward in the quest to get Altair hitched and moved out of his building.

He knew simply because he knew Altair. Had known him since he was ten years old and seen him through innumerable teenaged catastrophes and a few of those wholly embarrassing moments you try to forget ever happened.

It disturbed him sometimes how much he knew about Altair, other times it disturbed him how little he knew about him. This though…

Altair was always somehow reserved in everything he did. He had his small luxuries; his nasty socks and collection of knives, the occasional pay-per-view porno, his TOYS. But on average he was rather unobtrusive by nature, like a cactus.

Yes, Altair was like a cactus! So long as you didn't sit on him, he was rather painless to be around, didn't require much upkeep and was easy to ignore. When Altair found a niche he stayed in it.

Malik also knew it had been over eight years since Altair had been with a man… He knew this because last time Altair had been in bed for a week afterward with a rather stupid grin on his face, staring dreamily off into the ether—when he wasn't complaining about how fucking sore he was.

Altair was a very fickle creature when it came to his unnatural mating practices. And through his snooping Malik had inevitably gained a little inner voice that sounded a lot like David Attenborough while he was studying all things Altair, scowling around corners with this running commentary in his head as he documented the goings on of his family and those around them…

Altair may claim to be pansexual, but Malik knew better… The only reason Altair would sleep with a woman was if she agreed to do strange, painful things to him. The women Altair had been with made Malik fear for his balls… They had looked innocent enough at first glance, in fact he thought one of them was a kindergarten teacher, but well—There were just some things he didn't need to hear coming out of Altair's bedroom, and hearing a woman dote in an infantile mash of syllables that those were the cutest nipple clamps she'd ever seen, and she hadn't known they made plugs for THAT was just too much for Malik.

He would much rather Altair be with a man than a woman… At least then the neighbors didn't call and ask where he'd gotten that lovely fuschia bustier and matching restraints.

Malik wanted to glue ten foil over the windows…

He didn't know where Altair found those women, and had begun to suspect such proclivities were contagious, especially when Hadiya had come out of their bathroom one evening wearing one of those leather collars with spikes on it and insisted that Malik let her blindfold him.

Contagious… yes, most assuredly contagious… Like the plague. _Yes, that's it! It's a plague!_

And, like a plague, he found he was utterly defenseless against it.

So, Malik continued his observations, keeping detailed notes in his journals and tried to leave little hints around for Altair to find to somehow help him grasp the point of it all.

Hint number one had been a box of condoms, placed in the symmetrical center of Altair' pillow after Malik had been able to finally get in there and give the place a good cleaning after dinner Thursday evening.

They were even in fun colors. It would be hard to miss.

The second hint was less subtle… He arranged for the kids to go stay with their grandfather for the weekend and made reservations for himself and Hadiya at a Cooking Workshop, down town, afterward dancing and a movie and they probably wouldn't be back until two AM so that gave Altair plenty of time to go through that three-pack and the protein bars Malik left on his stereo. And even if that wasn't enough time he and Hadiya would be busy themselves and wouldn't notice.

A win-win situation if ever there was one.

Control, was a beautiful thing.

Too bad he woke up on Monday morning, at four AM to the sound of Hadiya being violently ill.

Hadiya never got sick… And even if she did she was too tenacious and stubborn to let it stop her. She could keep going even if she was running a high fever and on so many cold pills it wasn't necessarily legal.

Malik struggled out of bed rubbing sleep out of his eyes and squinting around, toes curled into the soles of his feet incase he bumped his foot on the furniture in the room, and made a beeline toward the glow leaking under the bathroom door.

He wasn't partial to vomit, but four children had made it intrinsically impossible not to have an intimate relationship with the disgusting secretions of the human body, so he ground his teeth and tiptoed toward the toilet, dropping to a knee behind her and picking at the sweaty hair sticking to her forehead and neck, pulling it back so he could keep it out of the way.

"Did you eat something different?"

She shook her head but didn't really speak, couldn't really.

"A virus maybe?"

Malik had always been enchanted by her eyes. Such a strange shade of brown they almost appeared red in some light. She turned them on him now, scowling.

"Stomach flu?"

"Stomach something…" She wadded some tissue and blew her nose.

"Appendicitis?" He tittered nervously, his face beginning to feel numb.

"Zafir isn't even potty trained yet!"

"I thought we agreed on a 'stomach something'." He glanced around as if maybe hoping there were a hidden camera and this was all a big joke.

"Well, let's hope for a 'something' instead of a 'SOMETHING'… I've been sick for a week, tired, achy, nauseous—"

"Stomach flu?"

"If I'm pregnant I'm naming it after Altair, just to piss you off."

"You said that last time and we named him after your father."

"You're really not helping."

He was silent for a few moments, and they just looked at one another.

She scrubbed her nose again and pushed back from the toilet long enough to rake her hair back into a ponytail and lean her head into his chest, fisting the fabric of his t-shirt like a lifeline- "Would it be so bad? Another baby?"

"Are you sure you're… We've been very careful since last time." He settled into a sitting position against the bathtub and pulled her close.

"We were careful before and yet we have two sons… Remember my sister saying they must carry little knives to get through the condoms?" She jabbed him gently in the ribs. "It would be nice… You take such good care of me when I'm pregnant."

"You don't have to be pregnant to be taken care of."

She poked her tongue out at him; "It's different…" She sighed; "You're always so anxious though… You lost thirty pounds when I was pregnant with Gadil and you hardly slept."

"It's worth it."

She hummed and rubbed her cheek on his chest. "What if it's another girl? You would be sorely outnumbered then."

"You forget the idiots downstairs."

She rolled her eyes. "We would be evenly numbered then."

"What would we call her? We could name her for your mother… She would like that."

"She would…" Hadiya was quiet for a while, thinking; "What if it's a boy?"

"Gadil was named for my father… Zafir for yours—" he let his breath out in a sigh and rubbed some warmth into her back. "We still have those books around here somewhere."

She nibbled her lips for a few seconds, drawing swirling patterns across her stomach, as if perhaps she could already feel movement, or were writing secret messages to whoever may be growing in there. "What about your brother… I think if it's a boy that I'd like to name him after your brother."

"Hadi…"

"Just think about it… We don't even know for sure that I'm pregnant. I might just have a virus, or the stomach flu." She patted his chest lightly and shifted her head against his ribs. "I'll call Lena and have her make an appointment for me for tomorrow afternoon."

He sighed and kissed the top of her head; "Should I go with you?"

"You don't have to… You got so squeamish last time."

"I can handle it."

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	2. Chapter 2

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_I should probably warn you, this fic sometimes jumps around in time and some chapters are stories in and of themselves._

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**Chapter 2; Waiting**

Lena was a small thirty-something woman from Bangladesh. She was devoutly Hindu, but was also a modern woman and had an acute affinity for punk and techno music. She had been Hadiya's doctor since before Saree's birth and when she came in to work on Monday afternoon and saw who her first patient was, she was utterly surprised to see dear husband there with her.

"I hope there will be no passing out today." She grinned slyly at Malik.

He showed his teeth, it was too snarky to call it a smile.

Hadiya explained that she had missed two cycles already, and all the gross medical mumbo-jumbo Malik tried to ignore, covering his mouth with his hand in a bored, impatient fashion and slumping in the uncomfortable chair in the exam room, staring at the curtains.

He wondered why there were curtains, the VA hospital only had ugly aluminum blinds that always seemed to be dusty, and nothing was this colorful and cheery. Sometimes he envied women.

Hadiya and Lena talked back and forth about the children, that Zafir had gone a whole week using his potty chair and only spoiled his pull-ups once.

Lena was impressed at how quickly he'd learned… Malik wanted to thump his chest triumphantly and say that his sons were always ahead of the game, but refrained from anything more than a smirk into his palm.

"OH! How long have you been experiencing the morning sickness?" Lena had Hadiya's shirt hiked up and was pressing gently at her lower stomach looking surprised.

"Only a week."

"Your uterus is protruding farther than I had expected… And you have only missed two menstruations?"

Malik rolled his eyes into his head… He had an irrational fear of women's 'menstruation'. He didn't want to hear about it, didn't want to know about it, it was bad enough he'd been woken up early that morning by Saree bawling and screaming that she was dieing, only to be regaled by an ecstatic Hadiya an hour later that their oldest daughter was a woman now.

He was sure he would have all gray hair by the time he was thirty-three at the rate this was going.

Hadiya nodded; "Yes, June's and July…"

Lena produced the ultrasound cart and slathered her stomach with KY— Malik tried not to blush because it was a familiar brand—and settled the scoop near her hip, working in small circles as the machine calibrated. "Everything seems to be in order, you're about twelve weeks from the…" And she went very quiet.

Malik didn't like quiet.

"Well, that explains it." Lena smiled brightly and used her free hand to motion to the screen. She turned to Malik and motioned him over with a jerk of her head; "Come and have a look at this."

He reluctantly climbed from his seat, arm folded across his chest pensively. He had become used to seeing the still images of ultrasound photos, the blurry back and light blue glossy prints of each of their children, the first time he'd seen them as little blobs with stubby arms and legs, were framed and hanging above their bed. The fact the picture on that screen was moving made him suddenly and perfectly aware that Hadiya was indeed pregnant again… What he didn't quite understand though, was why the tiny baby shaped blob seemed to have a pulsing white orb hanging just outside its little bubble.

That was until Lena shifted the scoop a little more to the left on Hadiya's abdomen.

"What the fuck is that!" His eyes widened.

Hadiya scolded him in Arabic; _"Twelve weeks is long enough that it can hear you."_

Lena turned the machine a little so Hadiya could peer at it with her big doe eyes.

"This is definitely twins… we can see one baby right here, and the head of the other baby is this here." Lena stood and pushed her stool backward quickly because she knew that look on Malik's face and the last thing she needed was him dropping into the floor again like he had with Zafir.

He sat heavily shoving his hair off his brow, just staring transfixed at the screen.

Hadiya's face went sheet white. "T-twins?"

"Yes, most assuredly… I'm assuming they are fraternal from the placement of the placental wall here. You have two healthy little ones in there. Congratulations." She fiddled with the machine for a few seconds, maneuvering the transducer around and allowing Malik and Hadiya a moment to just absorb it all while she checked each baby over looking for abnormalities, relieved when she found none, each little heart was strong and regular, and they seemed to move and shift freely and happily about.

Malik hefted a large sigh and stood on shaky legs, circling around to Hadiya's head and leaning his brow against hers for a moment, too overwhelmed to speak.

"It is still early, but would you like to know the sex?"

Hadiya hummed thoughtfully; _"What do you think?"_

_"I think right now I understand why my father smokes."_

_"Should we wait and be surprised?"_

_"I don't think I can take any more surprises."_

She laughed sympathetically and patted his head; "Yes, tell us!"

Lena scrutinized the images for a moment then used her curved little finger to indicate the aforementioned areas; "This one is most definitely a girl, she is in a really excellent position today… And well, I think this one has something to be proud of." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Malik blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Ah, look there, not including your 'idiots down stairs' we're all still evenly numbered."

"Six children…"

"I told you I wanted a big family."

"Yes, you did… I'm just a little shocked that we went from four to six in one go."

"They carry knives, Malik. I swear to you, they do."

He sighed and lifted his head, threading his fingers with hers; "How do you plan on telling—"

She glanced off to the side; "I… I'd like to wait to tell anyone."

His brows scrunched curiously; "Why?"

Hadiya sighed and gave his hand a little shake; "I don't want everyone getting their hopes up incase…"

His expression softened and he nodded; "It will be hard to hide it," he glanced at her stomach. "Two of them means you'll be twice as big."

"I know… But, I just don't want to have to explain to the children again that there won't—" Her voice caught in her throat and her eyes closed tightly.

He leaned close and nuzzled into her cheek comfortingly. "It won't happen. We'll wait, but I know—I know it won't happen again."

"How do you know that?"

"I can feel it."

"Are you just saying that to comfort me, or is this one—one of your _feelings_…" She blinked up at him curiously.

He smiled and kissed her lightly, gently lifting her fingers to cover his chest; "I can _feel_ it."

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	3. Chapter 3

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_(This one takes place about two days after Malik confronts Ethan about Desmond 9 years ago.)_

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**Chapter 3; Change of Plans**

Malik had always wanted to own a publishing company. It had been his dream since he was very young and started writing stories to amuse his brother with. So, he was very proud when he bought his first binding machine. A two-thousand dollar thing that bound hard covers and soft covers in sizes ranging from just two inches square, to twelve by twelve and four inches thick… Unfortunately, he happened to buy it the week Hadiya found out she was pregnant.

He hadn't known at the time, so he was a little frantic when, at their tiny table on the second floor amid the stacks of two-by-fours, drywall and plywood, Hadiya dropped a plate in front of him with a pregnancy test on it.

Altair blinked at it with dilated eyes, scratching at the bandages on his shoulder and flexing his fingers in their cast. "We're having fish sticks for breakfast?"

Hadiya slapped him across the back of the head as she dropped a plate with eggs and toast on it before him, glad he was too stoned to feel it at the moment. She stood there in front of Malik with her hands propped on her hips, tapping her foot. "Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He was still staring at it, lower lip poked out curiously, then he bumped it with his fork and let out a mumble that sounded like; "I thought you were on the pill." Or maybe it was; "Fuck, I'm about to be killed."

The double 'L' sound on the end was all Hadiya really caught, and she gave him the benefit of the doubt and decided to go with the first option; "I AM on the pill… So, how do you explain this?"

Altair nudged her in the hip with his fork; "Are these frog eggs—"

"Shut up!" She glared at him, and turned back to Malik. "How am I going to explain this to my parents? My father is going to come after you with his scalpel and—"

"He won't come after me with his scalpel… W-we just have to think about this for a few minutes. Are you even ready to become a mother?"

"Oh, and what about you? Are you saying you had no part in this?" Her eyes flashed red at him.

"No, that's not what I'm saying just—"

"Then what are you saying, because it sounds like to me that you're saying this is my problem and I have to deal with it alone."

"All I asked was if you were ready for it, because if you're not there are other options."

Hadiya was quiet for all of fifteen seconds, the fifteen seconds it took to calmly shift her weight to her other foot, pick up Malik's water glass and dump it in his lap, then storm away, slamming the door to the room she and Malik shared and locking it behind her.

Altair watched her go, turned to Malik, who was staring at his lap with a livid expression on his face, then looked down at his own— "Aw, damn…" He clamped a hand over his crotch and scuttled awkwardly to the bathroom like some kind of drunken pirate shuffling across the heaving deck of a storm tossed ship.

Malik sat there for a few minutes seething, trying to ignore the sound of muffled crying from the other room… but the longer he sat there, the more unbearable it became.

It really wasn't fair.

How was he going to handle this? He wasn't old enough to handle this, he was only twenty-two… He wasn't ready. Why couldn't things just go as they were supposed to?

He'd had it all planned out, Altair would stay for a few months until the second floor was finished then Malik could rent out the apartments while he hired a contractor to redo the third and forth floors. His little print shop would become a more substantial reality than just his laptop and a few secondhand Xerox machines he'd bought from a friend of his father's. Maybe five or so years down the road he and Hadiya could afford to get married, five or six years more maybe they'd have a baby, the baby would grow up, attend a private elementary school, graduate valedictorian, get into Harvard Law, be powerful and successful, meet the man or woman of their dreams, have a long engagement, get married and a few years later there would be a grandchild and he and Hadiya would live out the rest of their days in comfortable bliss.

This— this was all just happening too soon. It could not work like this. Things would turn out much better if they went as planned.

If this happened, nobody would want to rent an apartment with a screaming baby next door, and young marriages rarely ever lasted. Which meant child support for a baby he was never allowed to see, alimony, the print shop would eventually go under, the building would fall to ruin, overrun with drug dealers, Malik would wind up hooked on pain pills again and this time there wouldn't be a stubborn girlfriend there to dry him out and he would eventually overdose in some rotting corner of the basement and die cold and alone and his body wouldn't be found for years when the whole place was raided because some fat crazy woman who'd gotten too big to fit through the doors died and they had to cut the side of the building away to get her out with a crane, and the whole time the crowd on the street would be staring at the chipped dusty front windows with his name on them. And while the police were chasing the cockroaches and druggies out they'd find his rotted corpse behind the washing machine like a dead rat…

Malik's hand was shaking as he lifted it to cradle his head. Begging Hadiya in his mind to please, please stop crying… Things would be better in the long run if this didn't happen. Couldn't she see that?

It wasn't that he didn't want a baby… The very thought that Hadiya had even still wanted him after he'd returned was overwhelming. He didn't understand how such a beautiful, wonderful young woman could even still look at him like this, forget about actually loving him, or opening herself to him when everything she believed in said she shouldn't.

He'd told himself at first that it had been pity to lead her to his bed, but he couldn't believe it, because Hadiya didn't pity him. When he'd suggested it she'd laughed in his face. She didn't pity him, she loved him… And he loved her.

Malik pushed himself back from the table and shuffled across the room, stepping over piles of dust and dirt and old bricks, through the hole he and Altair had made in the wall, before all this Auditore business had started and thrown another fucking wrench in the gears of his schedule, and took the elevator down to the shop.

He stood there, over his brand new binding machine for a few minutes, staring at it, drumming his fingers on the plastic protective wrap and Styrofoam.

Maybe… Maybe if he slowed things down a little… Let Altair stay about a year, and didn't hire a contractor, just refurbished the whole building between the two of them… That would save a lot of money. He had friends who would pitch in—And there were lots of young families looking for apartments.

Maybe it could work…

The knocking on the back door stole his attention, and after a minute of staring stupidly at it, he went over and slid open the spy hole, peering down into big dark eyes and a tanned grinning face, complete with a slowly healing slash mark through his ceaselessly flapping lips.

"HeycanIcomein?" He waved his arms over his head. "Igotsomethin'awesometa'showya'!"

Malik snapped the spy hole shut and thumped his head against the door a few times before, with a deep breath for patience, he unlocked and opened the door, holding it wide, because Desmond was like a flood, he didn't come into a room, he exploded into it and took over.

He darted in like a bee and almost ran into the binding machine, spinning around it like a whirlwind before he came to a stop beside Malik's desk bouncing on the balls of his feet. He gave his backpack a mighty swing and it thudded on top of the paperwork and forms Malik had been organizing, scattering them.

He sighed and shut the door again, sliding the lock, and shuffled slowly over, like a man being led to his death. He dropped dramatically into his chair.

"Lookit!" Desmond brandished a piece of paper in his fists.

Gingerly, Malik took the crumpled, mussed thing and squinted at it. "You—"

"Igotahundredonmymathtest!"

"Very good, I'm sure your father will be very proud."

Desmond slowed down then, and carefully took the paper back, using his little hands to try and flatten it against the desk as if suddenly ashamed that it was so wrinkled. He lowered his head; "Well… My dad's gotta work tonight."

"Oh."

"D'you mind if I stay here? I-I don't like bein' alone." His shoulders hunched.

Malik sighed, "Did you ask y—"

"He said he didn't care." And it sounded more to Malik like 'he doesn't care'.

"Alright—But please, PLEASE be quiet… Hadiya isn't feeling well."

Desmond froze mid shout, slapped both hands over his mouth and whispered loudly; "I'll be quiet!"

"Good, now I—"

"Is she sick?"

"Y— yes… Sh-she's going to have a baby, you see and whe—"

"A baby?" Desmond's eyes widened like saucers.

Malik suddenly found himself under attack, both of Desmond's little hands were clamped over his own, pumping his arm up and down hard enough to dislocate his shoulder, and he was speaking so fast not a single word could be deciphered amid the mad tangle of syllables and happy giggling, prepubescent squeals.

And then Desmond covered his mouth again with a startled 'OH!' and he whispered loudly once more; "Sorry… I'll be quiet this time, I promise!"

"Thank you, now I really have to fini—"

"Are you gonna get married? Can I come?"

"N—What? I don't know… Why would you ask me something like that?" He pulled a stack of his papers toward himself and started reorganizing them, his face heating up.

"Well, my dad's old girlfriend was gonna have a baby an' he had to go to the hospital to have a fraternity test—"

"PATERNITY test."

"—An he was all weird for a week, pacing around an' he told me that if the baby was my brother or sister he'd have to marry her… Then he got really drunk and met his new girlfriend Candy. She's the one who had really long fingernails and was licking the cake frosting off his pants—"

Malik laughed hysterically, just trying to shut Desmond up.

"I know how to take care of a baby, can I help when it's born? My neighbor had a baby. When I'd go there when Dad was at work she'd let me hold it. You ever feeled one moving in the mommy's stomach? It's so weird! I like babies." He crossed his arms across the desk and propped his chin on them, grinning dreamily at Malik. "They're really tiny and stuff and they make people smile a lot. I liked Catarina's baby, she was pretty."

Malik swallowed with difficulty and stared down at the crescent marks his nails had made in his palm.

"Hey, is All-Star up there?" He pointed to the ceiling.

"Altair," He lifted his head, eyes closed because he felt like, if he looked at Desmond he may shout at the kid, and motioned to his mouth; "ALTAIR."

Desmond's nose wrinkled; "I know that… But when I was here yesterday he was acting crazy and staring at the wall and kept saying _'It's all stars… All stars'_." He shook his head and pushed away from the desk eyeing Malik as he made his way to the elevator and had to jump to yank the gate down. "I'm not stupid you know."

Malik waited until Desmond was out of sight before he banged his head on the desk, then rubbed furiously at the pulsing knot that was starting to form on his brow. He grumbled bitterly about sarcastic eleven-year-olds and scattered his paperwork in his irritation and desperation to find the receipt for his binding machine. He grabbed it with all his fingers and crumpled it in his palm as punishment for hiding from him, then flattened it against his thigh and went to the phone.

A few minutes and shouting at the automated call system Malik finally was able to talk to a sales representative.

"Yes, how do you handle returns and refunds?"

"May I ask the reason for your return?"

"I just found out my girlfriend's pregnant."

"Ah, alright, Sir. Has the machine been used?"

"Nope, still sitting here in the wrapper." He stared at it sadly for a while, while he gave the rep his information, address and the serial number of the machine, then bared his teeth and tried to sound cheerful when the person on the other end of the phone said that he was in luck, a delivery man was in the area and would be there at noon to pick it up and issue a full refund.

By the time the man got there Malik had spent his anger shouting and arguing with Altair. The younger man was so easy to argue with when he was overwhelmed by that hellish sensation brought on by the nerves in his hand doing strange things and telling him his missing finger was back and had grown at a strange angle from his palm, or was bent backward beneath his cast. Malik liked to point out the fact that he'd experienced it, he knew what it was like, but Altair was lucky because it was only one damned finger not the majority of his fucking arm.

The binding machine disappeared through Malik's door and he stood there watching the truck drive away, his heart hammering, wanting to run after them screaming that he'd changed his mind to please bring it back… But he just kept standing there taking long slow breaths, and once he was sure the truck was too far away for him to chase it down, he crept back upstairs with his shoulders hunched and a scowl on his face.

Hadiya was still locked in their room and when he knocked on the door she refused to answer, so he barged into Altair's room and found the young PI slumped on the couch staring dazed at the TV watching _Beauty and the Beast_ with Desmond, who was slouched low, hugging a pillow.

"I'm borrowing some pants," He kicked through the piles of Altair's clothes on the floor, growing more and more annoyed with each passing second, lifting pairs of jeans to discretely sniff, happy when he found a clean pair on the third try. He shucked out of his sweats and pulled the jeans on. He and Altair were built similarly enough that he could wear the PI's clothes if he got desperate enough. They were just a little too long but at the moment he didn't care. "Desmond… Are you enjoying that?" He pointed to the screen.

Desmond didn't bother looking away; "I've never seen it before… He said there's blood and monsters in it."

Malik shook his head and let out a sigh; "I'm going to the store, you can come if you want."

"No… I'll stay here 'case Miss Hadiya needs something… he's acting crazy again." He pointed to Altair.

Malik gave a quick nod and left, yanking down the floppy black hoodie he'd been given at the hospital after his surgery. It was warm, and one of the volunteers who'd presented it to him had lined the pinned left sleeve with fleece, and as much as he didn't want attention being drawn to it, the added warmth it provided helped ward off and comfort those agonizing cramps he'd found himself plagued with when the weather changed or he ended up getting cold. If Hadiya hadn't insisted on keeping it a balmy eighty degrees in the building, reminiscent of her home in Florida, he would have worn the thing all the time.

There was a small grocery not far from his building, a couple blocks south, and it wasn't a terribly cold spring day so he walked.

He wasn't a bad cook, but he didn't claim to be a good one either, if there were clear and precise directions he could do it well enough to be palatable. And the family that owned the place was helpful, the wife having had ten children, offered some sagely advice when he told her in a gruff voice that he wanted to make something to apologize for his behavior, and he left with a package of multi-flavored suckers called 'Pregnancy Pops', a bottle of prenatal vitamins, some saltines and two frozen barbecue chicken pizzas he could make for himself Altair and Desmond.

He crept back up the stairs and was surprised to find Hadiya had come out of the room and was sitting at the table with Desmond nibbling a piece of toast.

Desmond was swinging his feet under the table and Malik could just barely make out what they were saying.

"Maybe he was just scared? My dad was scared when his old girlfriend said she was gonna have a baby."

"Maybe," She said, "…He just didn't act the way I expected him to."

Desmond, the keen eyed little chatterbox he was, noticed Malik's presence at the end of the hall and waved at him. "I took care of her, just like I said I would!"

Malik did have to give the kid credit, he was able to get Hadiya out of the bedroom when he couldn't.

He watched her carefully as he approached, how she couldn't quite meet his eyes, and turned back to her toast without another word.

"She thinks you're mad at her." Desmond folded his arms on the tabletop.

Malik sighed, nudged another chair out with his foot and sat heavily, his back to the boy. He leaned his forehead gingerly against Hadiya's shoulder, lowering his voice to a whisper so it would be even harder for Desmond to understand what he said; _"I'm sorry."_

She didn't say anything, didn't even so much as acknowledge him.

_"Hadi, I really am sorry."_

_"You're just saying that because you saw how upset it made me."_

_"No, I'm saying it because I had time to think about it, and I realized I was an ass. I'm sorry."_

She sat her toast down and folded her hands in her lap, purposefully putting distance between her palms and her stomach, as if denying it, or perhaps refusing to touch it lest she become attached._ "I had time to think too… And you were right, neither of us are ready to become parents."_

He sighed, unhooking his fingers from the grocery bag and fitting his palm against her belly; _"We already are though…"_

Her fingers tightened where they were laced together and he could hear her jaw creaking as she tightened it.

_"I had no right to suggest what I did, I can't take that back. All I can do is tell you both that I'm sorry."_

Hadiya didn't speak, just let out a slow breath in relief and shifted one hand to cover his.

They sat like that for a while, until their silence was interrupted by the rustle of a plastic bag and Malik glancing down to see Desmond under his chair pulling one of the pizzas out.

Hadiya blinked down at his upturned little face and started laughing, ruining the quiet moment. "Ah, what have you got there, Dizzy?"

He smiled blindingly and seemed to slither snakelike backward with the pizza.

Malik watched him dart toward the little makeshift kitchen they'd set up in one corner and start tearing into the box, standing on tiptoes to see the toaster oven as he smeared butter on the bottom of the crust and slid it in.

_"He really is very helpful… When he has to be."_ Hadiya rubbed the back of his wrist and turned her eyes to her stomach again. _"What am I going to tell my parents? What will you tell your father?"_

He hummed thoughtfully and his brows drew down. _"We can worry about that tomorrow. Right now, let's just figure this out… You'll need to see a doctor, and—"_ He pulled his hand away long enough to remove his purchases one by one from the bag, aside from the second pizza. _"—Vitamins… Crackers, and the woman from the grocery said these help with morning sickness."_ He pushed the package of bear shaped suckers toward her. _"I don't know if you're there yet, but—"_

Hadiya had already torn into the package and popped a green one between her lips. After a few seconds she sighed in relief and pointed toward Desmond and the toaster oven, waving her other hand before her nose.

Malik had to wait a few more seconds before he could smell it, then turned back with a somewhat nervous grin. _"Desmond or the pizza?"_

_"Pizza… yucky."_

He chuckled and she scowled at him.

Behind him Desmond started humming and bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently, but Malik barely noticed;

_"Hadi… I returned the binding machine."_

_"Why, you've been scrimping and saving for three years to afford that thing. You were ecstatic about it yesterday, wouldn't even let Altair touch it… I'm surprised you didn't start humping the thing—"_

_"This is more important. I saved enough once, I can do it again. I know it's not much but—"_

_"If you propose to me right now I'll kick you. I don't want you proposing to me just because I'm pregnant. If you do it I want you to do it because you love me, not because you feel obligated."_

He blinked at her in surprise; _"H-how did—"_

_"You're rubbing my finger like you're trying to put a ring on it."_ She looked down where his hand was resting on her own.

He looked at it and quirked his brow up. _"I…"_

_"I won't marry you if you're doing this just to make an 'honest woman' out of me. I swear to you I won't."_

_"You're already an honest woman, you've not once tried to deceive me—"_

_"I won't be a WIFE either. I plan on getting my degree and having a career. I won't sit around popping out children living under your hand like a possession, do you understand me?"_

_"If I wanted a possession I'd be ordering **toys** like Altair."_

They stared at one another for a few seconds in silence, behind them Desmond was trying to pull the pizza out when it was only half cooked whining because he kept singeing his fingers.

_"I'm not lying to my parents about this."_

_"Alright… But I am lying to my father about it."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because he's very traditional and if he found out we've had sex before marriage he would—"_

_"Ah."_ She pursed her lips around the sucker stick and twitched it to the other side of her mouth. _"Maybe we shouldn't tell my parents just yet…"_

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	4. Chapter 4

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_(This one hurt to write...)_

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**Chapter 4; First Born Son**

The first thing he was aware of was the cold, he was freezing, and everything was terribly bright. Illuminated rectangles flipping up from beyond his feet.

He saw his hand, groping with numb, half limp fingers, and pulling a clear thing away from his face, he likened it to a jellyfish, holding onto him with four thin stretchy tentacles wrapped tightly around his head. It hissed at him as he pulled it away.

Then there were faces, pale white featureless things with wide black eyes appearing and disappearing out of the brightness.

His ears were ringing, a shrill, dull sound.

"Just stay still, son, stay still." One of the faces had hands, and it pressed the jellyfish back over his face. When he fought and pulled it away again the red smear along the left side was so vivid and brilliant against the whiteness.

He didn't know where he was, what had happened, or even who he was until that moment, and then it started dripping back.

For a while, everything was terribly still and silent around him, and he feared that this was death and nothing else mattered but that fear for a long while.

The world phased in slowly, the brightness fading and with it the shrill screeching sound in his ears.

There was a face over him, shrouded in white and blue with splatters of red on the front. It was a roundish face, older, smiling sadly, and those thick lips moved, sound delayed a few seconds behind the motion of words;

"You're going home."

_Home?_

Everything became darker, more visceral after that moment. A hallway, lights flipping down from above his head as he was moved laterally through space. He thought maybe he was floating in icy water, carried away like an iceberg on the current.

There were lights in the ceiling, he was sure it was a ceiling now, as he came back to himself by inches. Flashing, spinning yellow emergency lights, air vents, little antennas for radios, domed camera lenses.

He missed the first of those, but was able to tilt his head enough to catch the second, amused by the way the reflection was curved around the shape of its silvery surface. Four white clad figures pushing a gurney with only a dark head visible beneath a Mylar emergency blanket, white sheets and a pile of equipment in a red flimsy container.

Where was he?

One of the figures leaned over him smiling; "Hey there… Everything's OK, you just relax."

His brows scrunched curiously; "That's _Sir_ to you…" It didn't come out right but he felt too drained to try again and settled on scowling.

And then he was looking up the side of a building to a great, vast, eternal dark sky and the light around him was all red.

It was too much for his mind to comprehend at the moment and his eyes fell closed, when he opened them again the noise around him was deafening and instinctually he tried to flinch away from it, wanting to cover his head, and two men with heads like insects were guiding him, voices distorted and ruined amid the whine and roar of some unseen monster somewhere away behind him.

A monolith loomed out of the night at him, a gaping industrial mouth and he felt himself tilting, suddenly overwhelmingly nauseous.

He was in the belly of a whale… Steel ribs were visible in the gray-green walls. Lights in little cages to keep the fires burning hung to either side of him, stacks of sheets and heads and bloody bandages.

He shut his eyes tightly against the horror of it; _it's all just a dream, just a dream…_

His eyes opened again and he was in pain… Everything hurt and he couldn't move.

The world was gray and green and bloody red. And above him, on a shelf, there was another person, he turned his head slowly and peered out, up and down a seemingly impossible length of shelves. On some there were heads swathed in gauze, on others there were young men with more tubes and wires sticking out of them than a computer.

There were IV bags hanging from hooks, and blood transfusion bags dangling like lanterns in a Chinese parade.

He felt small, insignificant, and utterly alone. Just a number amid the masses of casualties. A statistic.

A woman in fatigues knelt beside him, she shifted the bags of fluids hanging by his head, not even noticing his eyes were open, and pushed the blankets back.

He noticed his nakedness first, humiliated that this woman and her cold blue eyes were the first to see him, then he noticed the bandages. Ugly thick things tied around his thigh, taped to his hip and stomach, wrapped around his ribs, stained and stark against all the dull sepia around him, then he saw beige and remembered spraining his wrist once and the school nurse wrapping his arm in one… but now there was nothing there. Just a lump of bloody gauze and stained wrappings.

Even when the woman flipped the blankets back up he was staring at the spot. The single hot point of agony in his whole body was centralized there, and now he knew why.

He didn't understand it. His mind just wouldn't function and all he could do was stare.

When he woke again he didn't open his eyes. He just laid there struggling to wiggle his fingers. In his mind he could feel them moving, could feel the muscles flexing could feel the ache of a cramp in his palm.

There was a beep off to his right, steadily growing faster, and he could feel another jellyfish on his face, hissing at him—

And there was something else… Like water coming from a spigot.

"Shhhh, it's alright, its over."

A hand smoothed over his head, cool and callused and smelling somehow sweet and fruity and acidic.

He remembered that feeling, that voice, and carefully pried his eyes open, worried he might not be able to manage it because his lids felt glued together and sweat made them sting, when he did get them open he wished he hadn't.

His father was a tall man nearing fifty with black hair speckled with white and silver, and dark eyes. He wore a permanent frown and often spent hours just staring into nothing without speaking or moving at all, but here he was, sitting there in a sweatshirt with a pin-on ID tag on the left side of his breast. He didn't smile, which seemed so unnatural because he and Kadar looked so much alike, and the youngest Al Sayf was always smiling, always intent and—

"I thought I'd lost you too." He formed his palm against the top of Malik's head, leaning close with such a cold, lifeless look in his eyes; "It's just the two of us now… I—I'll take care of you, you just focus on getting better, alright?" He tried to smile comfortingly, but it came out more as a wince, something pained and unattractive.

"I'm sorry…" There was no sound behind it, his mouth and throat were too sore and dry from fever, tightening and burning as the weight of it all crashed down on him, his vision blurring and rippling, "I didn't protect him—I'm so sorry."

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	5. Chapter 5

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_Takes place right after Chapter 60 of Fast Cars. I edited this out of the main story because it seemed to slow things down a little, but I liked it too much to leave it out completely._

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**Chapter 5; Devil Child **

At seven thirty that morning Ezio was still in bed, the pillows and blankets mounded and wreathed around him like a nest, jaw propped on his arm, watching Altair move around the room with a kind of sleepy appreciation.

Altair was fresh from the shower, shirtless, scuffing around in clean socks and jeans with a towel around his shoulders and water dripping off his hair. He watched Ezio from the corner of his eye as he shaved, laughingly saying; "If you keep staring at me like that I might slit my throat with this thing by accident." He gave his little shaver a flick to indicate the blades and his eyes smiled when Ezio chuckled under his breath.

Altair tried to fight off a grin, eyes flicking back to the man in his bed every few seconds. He bent to rinse the excess foam from his face then grumbled in his throat, scowling into the mirror with his chin tilted upward prodding gingerly at the purple mark of teeth on his neck; "Jesus… I haven't had a hickey since I was nineteen…"

Ezio just grinned deviously and showed his teeth.

Altair rolled his eyes again and rubbed his hair with the towel a few times until it stood on end then fished something out of the linen cabinet behind the door; "First things first, are you awake enough to look at these or should I just wait."

Ezio grunted; "'m awake."

He nodded; "I am not going out there without this, I don't enjoy smelling bad." He came out of the bathroom carrying a plastic drug store bag and politely stepped up onto the bed, dropping into a sitting position beside the younger man with his legs crossed and his elbows on his knees, the bag open between them.

Ezio peeked into it, eyes widening when he saw over a dozen different tubes of antiperspirant.

"There was this girl at the drug store who kept hitting on me the whole time, and I know she was trying to help, but she really only made me feel stupid." He took one tube out and popped it open, sniffing it before holding it out perhaps like a bouquet of flowers. "What do you think?"

Ezio chuckled and slowly sat up, enjoying the ache between his hips, feeling heat rise to his cheeks remembering.

"I don't want to smell like a dirty old man anymore."

"I never said 'dirty'." He took the tube and sniffed it, wrinkled his nose and put the cap back on, tossing it out of his nest like a bird may throw out a twig that was dissatisfying, or perhaps a bit of waste that had become offensive.

Eight tubes in and all of it was either too flowery or too chemical smelling in Ezio's opinion, but it was amusing thinking about how mortified Altair must have been talking to some strange girl while he picked out deodorant.

"Although you can be that too." He smirked.

Altair rolled his eyes and when that tube was rejected, supplied a new one—

And then a peculiar thing happened…

Ezio's brows flicked up for half a second, and his lids twitched lower, breath frozen in his chest for a three count… And when it thawed, resuming, those hazel eyes rolled back into his head, his toes curling into the soles of his feet.

Altair laughed; "Wow, I know that look."

Ezio didn't reply, just took another long, slow breath through flared nostrils.

"Ezio," He called in a singsong voice; "Are you still with me?"

The younger man thrust the tube back at him and let his breath out in what could only be classified as a moan, his spine gone ramrod straight.

Altair took the tube gingerly, wondering maybe, just from how Ezio was acting, if it weren't laced with some inhalant drug… It had looked almost as if the younger man were getting high off the damned thing.

He glanced at the tube, then back at Ezio with his mouth quirked up questioningly; "Are you sure?"

He didn't breathe, just nodded and pointed right at it with a rigid finger.

Altair read the label one more time. It didn't sound very exciting, didn't sound very masculine either… "Alright, but if Malik makes any comments about me wearing perfume I'm blaming it on you."

Ezio politely gave him thumbs up and flopped back onto the bed with a pleased little sigh, toes curling rhythmically in the sheets.

Altair disappeared into the bathroom to dispose of the 'old man deodorant' and replace it with this questionable new tube. Then pulled on a t-shirt and his jacket, pausing to hike a knee onto the bed and lean over enough to kiss Ezio's forehead before the younger man went back to sleep. "I Tivo-ed topless mud wrestling. We can watch it later if you want."

Ezio grinned and shook his head, feigning sleep.

"'got some documentaries on the middle ages too, and there's Netflix… Also a bunch of CDs and shit. If you get bored you can come on up stairs and we can wrangle Zafir for a while."

Ezio snorted and hid his face under the pillow; "'m sleepin'…"

Altair kissed his shoulder and tried to rock back to his feet, but one hand tangled in his shirt and pulled him back down.

Ezio held him like that for a few seconds, then wiggled around until he was on his back, hands stroking the PI's hair off his forehead, their eyes locked, attentive, but somehow blind to the rest of the world, mouths pressing gently, tasting of toothpaste and hastily eaten protein bars.

"Altair…"

There was no question, nothing really but just tasting the older man's name on his breath. His tone pleased, reverent, and maybe even a little amused.

Altair chuckled and pressed a final quick kiss to the young man's lips; "I'll come back when Malik gets home from the VA and we can talk, or do whatever, alright?"

"Do 'whatever' huh?"

He grinned; "Yeah, 'whatever'."

Ezio nodded and kissed him back twice before settling down amid the pillows and letting Altair go.

"Doorknob is locked, nobody'll bother you, alright?"

He snored loudly, grinning.

Altair rolled his eyes and let the door shut with a click.

Hadiya was already down stairs in the shop and Malik was coming down the stairs pulling on his jacket over a black t-shirt.

Altair had always thought Malik looked natural in just about anything. He and Kadar had once dared the older boy to put on a skirt and he'd come out of the bathroom looking irritated, but not at all ashamed. Malik was secure about his sexuality and very little threatened it… aside from Altair playfully trying to kiss him. That was one thing that had made him want to run screaming, or smash a hand into the younger boy's face to keep him away.

He came down stairs now dressed in jeans and sneakers and a newer version of the standard baggy black hoodie he'd had for twelve years now. This one had a pin on the left side of his chest, a little silver sword he'd ordered from one of his weapon magazines or another.

Altair thought it was fitting.

Malik patted his pockets, and touched the bridge of his nose, reciting three times; _'Wallet, cell phone, glasses.'_ Then he let out a deep breath and nodded to Altair; "They're still asleep for about another fifteen minutes or so… No TV for Kalila she's grounded, she punched Gadil in the stomach last night, they go down to the bus after breakfast… The TV is already programmed to go to Zafir's shows—try to speak only in English around him."

Altair snorted. "He's two, why did you try—"

"Yes, he's two, and yes, I should have known better than trying to teach him Arabic so early. I got an earful from Hadiya last night about it I don't need it from you too!" He rubbed his forehead wearily. "And what are you laughing about! It's not funny!" He sighed; "At least he's talking… When Gadil was two he went through that phase of not talking, remember? Weeks at a time and not a peep out of him."

"They're _your_ kids, why are you surprised."

Malik scoffed and propped his hand on his hip. After a moment he sighed and looked Altair right in the face. "You're not helping."

"I'm sorry. Did I offer to help?"

Malik sneered at him, eyes blazing, then with a bull like snort and a shake of his head waved dismissively and walked toward the door. "I'm going to be late… Don't do anything too stupid while I'm gone."

"I'll try." He shuffled up the stairs to the kitchen and sat to work making breakfast.

Breakfast went on without incident. As normal as normal could be. The kids ate, Zafir wore his empty plate as a hat, Kalila grumbled and whined when she wasn't allowed to watch cartoons before the bus came and slumped lifelessly in her chair as if she were dieing.

But off they went on the bus, waving goodbye to their mother and uncle, and Altair was left upstairs with Zafir, who was lying under the coffee table watching a fat purple creature in a hat and sweater wander around and eat things.

And then… It happened.

One minute Altair was sitting there on the couch blinking dully at the TV, aware that Zafir was sucking his thumb under the coffee table, the next… Well, he wasn't really sure what caused it, but he wished dearly that 'it' hadn't.

"Don't suck your thumb… It's icky." Altair made a face at the little boy, tongue out, nose wrinkled up.

Zafir's little eyebrows drew down severely, thumb still firmly between his lips. He politely removed his hand for all of two seconds, the two seconds it took him to stick out his little tongue between shiny little teeth, an expression that was all too similar to his mother, and the next second Altair was staring down at a tiny little middle finger.

He felt perfectly insulted for all of nine seconds. And then he became aware that he'd just been flipped the bird by a two-year-old.

Altair, bless him, was a horridly competitive person. And Zafir, as small and young as he was, played very, very dirty.

"You little…" Altair's eyebrows curled downward, half in amusement, half in shock. "Where did you learn that!"

Zafir laughed maniacally.

"It's not funny, that's—that's a bad word." He scowled to get his point across.

And then, suddenly, Zafir was not under the coffee table anymore, but was running full tilt around and around and around the couch squealing and jabbering and screaming for no reason other than he could.

Altair could understand a few words, 'Zoom-zoom ZOOM! Likea racecar!' and one he prayed was just a mispronunciation and not 'hashish'. He bowed his head into his hands and vowed never, EVER to have children.

And then he heard something shatter, and turned in time to see that little boy, in nothing but a t-shirt and his pull-ups, STANDING on the dining room table arms still outstretched from throwing the lid of an antique decorative tureen to the floor.

An antique decorative tureen that had belonged to Malik's mother…

Altair fisted his hair and spoke without thinking; "You little _shit!_ Look what you did!"

And Zafir's dark little eyes brightened happily, "SHIT!"

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Ezio had been dozing, face flushed, fantasizing about getting Altair back into bed and riding the older man like a cowboy. Grinning in spite of himself imagining how wonderful it would feel. How freeing. Knowing Altair wouldn't force him, or do something to intentionally distress him.

He could just see himself, straddling those tanned hips, tugging on the PI's nipple ring and completely losing himself in the draw and plunge of—

And from upstairs came a magnificent _CRASH!_

Ezio flinched and went perfectly still, eyes open and staring at the curtains.

A few seconds later a shrill little voice started screeching, laughing, cheering, screaming in delight.

Altair came down about thirty seconds after carrying Zafir like a football under one arm, the little boy was laughing and writhing, slapping at the PI's behind with both little hands and chanting something Ezio couldn't quite understand, he pushed open the bedroom door long enough to give Ezio a look that said he was nearing his wits end, and spoke in a voice that sounded close to cracking; "Superglue… I need superglue."

Ezio blinked and eased himself up onto his elbows. "What happened?"

Altair didn't say anything, just strode forward quickly and purposefully and deposited Zafir on the bed at Ezio's hip, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead; "Don't let him out of your sight!"

Ezio heard him as he darted away, office door slamming open, drawers pulled and rummaged violently.

Zafir had his head cocked to the side and was staring at Ezio with dark doll's eyes… grinning.

Altair stomped back into the room a few seconds later, eyes substantially wider and more panic ridden, teeth bared, hands fisted in his hair. He pulled out the utility drawer on his entertainment center tossing things out onto the floor and to the corners of the room.

Zafir laughed spiritedly and clapped his hands in amusement. It wasn't every day his uncle Altair went so crazy.

"Altair, what happened? What's going on?"

Finally, when it seemed he may scream in horror any second, his hand seized upon a scrap of paper and he snarled triumphantly, crushing it in his fist before flattening it out again on the top of his DVR and snatched up his cell phone, punching in the numbers with a little more force that was strictly necessary.

Altair looked up from the phone at Ezio and his expression softened; "Zafir broke something important…"

Ezio bared his teeth in sympathy; "What'd he break?"

"The lid to an antique bowl that belonged to Malik's mom."

"Oh, shit… Can it be fixed?"

Zafir let out a squeal; "SHIT! SHITSHITSHIT!"

Ezio blinked at him with an eyebrow raised, amused, then turned back to the stricken look pasted across Altair's face.

"It's broken into a hundred little pieces… If Malik comes home and sees it he'll— Hello? Park? Yeah, it's Altair… I need a big favor."

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An hour and a half later the dining room had turned into what reminded Altair of an operating theater.

Leo was sitting at the table hunched over the broken pieces of dishware wielding tweezers and a tube of superglue. His hair had been pulled back into an abrupt and severe ponytail at the crown of his head and he had on a pair of reading glasses. Why the reading glasses? They were excellent magnifiers, yes indeed, and the light Ezio had shining down from above, coupled with the other flashlights Altair was holding trained on the pieces, it really did look like some intricate, miniscule micro surgery in progress.

Zafir was lounging under the coffee table again watching Star Trek with a rather absorbed expression on his face, completely oblivious to the frantic operation going on not twelve feet away.

Half of the lid was reconstructed and Altair was holding his breath because twice already a sliver of the thing had stuck to the tweezers and Leo had to pry it off again with a needle.

This was a delicate operation, most assuredly.

Altair checked the clock hanging above the kitchen door—

"I said, 'don't _move'!"_ Leo hissed, eyes practically glowing.

He looked like an angry cockatoo or something… Altair didn't want to risk that this man, one who had once been very thin and twig like, but now looked to have built himself up a very nice set of muscles, would take a swing at him.

He'd been hit by Leo once, the sharp heel of his steady hand striking the underside of his chin, and Altair had not been lying to Ezio when he'd said it took a lot to knock him down, but even back when Leo was spindly and sick like, he'd almost knocked Altair on his ass.

There was definite power behind the blonde even then, now? Now Altair didn't want to take the chance. He rather liked having his head on his shoulders thank you.

The blonde didn't shake his head, but the sentiment was there, so Altair clamped his mouth shut and focused on not shaking as he held the light steady.

A trill of excited laughter from behind them didn't even steal Leo's attention, so neither Ezio nor Altair moved lest they disrupt his focus.

Malik leaned in over Altair's shoulder, twisted his mouth to the side and wrinkled his nose at the stink of superglue. He lowered his voice to a whisper and tilted his words toward the PI's ear; "What's going on?"

Altair didn't take his attention off the blonde's skillful, powerful hands; "We're trying to put the lid back together so nobody knows it was broken… It's an antique you know."

Malik nodded, brows lifting as he did; "I have four children under the age of ten, Altair, do you really think I would put something so important to me out on the kitchen table?"

Altair blinked and tilted his head slowly, heart in his throat, noticing the smirk on the older man's face, brows drawing down in agitation at all his wasted effort.

Malik grinned; "I got that for a dollar at the school rummage sale two years ago… I have four more like it in a box in the storage closet."

"You're an asshole."

"No, I'm a parent. There's not much of a difference, but there is, I assure you, a difference."

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_Malik's sentiment about expensive dishes I borrowed from friends of mine. They have three kids (two boys and a girl) all under three years old. At Easter they brought over a beautiful dish of Haggis (her great grandmother's recipe and really not gross at all, believe me, I ate four plates of it.) And after dinner I was helping her do dishes and dropped it. _

_It broke into a million pieces. _

_I was horrified, but she just laughed and said it was fine, that she'd got it at the dollar store. That living in a house with small children dictated that dishes were going to get broken, and only idiots actually used the antiques or expensive stuff… Well I sure felt like an idiot afterward, but it was a relief too. So, this chapter was born out of my panic that evening._

_ And for those of you who caught it, Zafir is watching Chowder. _

_10 points to the person who can tell me if Chowder is a cat or a raccoon. _

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	6. Chapter 6

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_Takes place a few months after Change of Plans. Kind of sort of... skips around in time a little._

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**Chapter 6; Morning Sickness**

The first appointment she had with what Malik, oh so politely called 'The Lady Doctor', Hadiya was very nervous. Her friends in high school, college and even the small clinic where she had been recently hired on as part time receptionist, had all told horror stories about male doctors who always had a slight hunger in their eyes while they conducted their business.

Hadiya had been terrified of having someone—mess around down there. It had always been a very taboo place. You didn't talk about it growing up, you kept it hidden and private and it was meant only for a girl's husband, nobody else. Her mother had been somewhat joltingly unsympathetic when at eleven young Hadiya had called her from school to say that during gym class she'd gotten her first period and everyone had laughed at her. Mother had told her quite plainly to never speak of it again, and she would be there shortly to bring a change of clothes and to explain the delicacies of the situation. To stop crying that it made her sound weak.

Her Freshman year in College had opened her eyes a little, some of her friends in the psychology department had been very open about sexuality, that there was nothing taboo, nothing that should be hidden and ashamed of. Being a woman was a wonderful thing. A woman had the power to bear and create life. Could sustain that life and nurture it. A woman was sacred, a holy vessel in the eyes of god.

It had changed her entire outlook on life, so much so, that during the holiday break she'd gone home, sat down and embraced her younger sister, sharing the newfound love she had for herself and her sexuality. Neema had seemed to change over night. No longer so self-degrading and introverted. Both of them had entered the world when school recommenced, new powerful, confident, strong women.

Her first appointment with the Lady Doctor, Hadiya did not wear a hijab, she went not as a young Muslim woman who had been too afraid of the taboo of her sexuality to have any sort of screening or test performed. Hadiya went in to the office merely as a young woman who had just recently found out she was pregnant.

She had never been more relieved to discover all the doctors and nurses at this particular clinic were all female. She very nearly burst into tears in relief that she wouldn't have to let a man touch her where only Malik had, and only Malik would.

Lena was just two years older than her, smiling brightly, proud, strong. She was a very big comfort during those uncomfortable procedures. Explaining how things worked, what was happening. And even smiling happily with misty eyes when she turned the ultrasound screen and let Hadiya take a look at the little life that had changed everything.

Hadiya had never been so utterly and completely moved by something barely the size of a lima bean.

She'd stared at the little photo print she'd been given the whole ride on the bus. Looking up and smiling happily when a few older women congratulated her. Not minding at all that they'd been peering over her shoulder.

She showed Malik immediately, coming into the shop where he was sitting in front of his computer with a client designing posters for an upcoming theatre production.

Malik, before that moment, despised being interrupted from work, and had lifted his head to say so and had a blurry little black and blue smear of a photo thrust into his face.

The words had died on his lips without much notice, and his client had been completely forgotten as he'd just cradled that photo in his palm and stared.

Too bad for their plan of not telling anyone, because unbeknownst to them Malik's client was also a patient of Hadiya's father, and two days later when he'd gone in to meet with the surgeon who'd performed his triple bypass months before, he'd chuckled and mentioned that the young printer who'd done up the posters for the community theatre had made such a funny face when his girlfriend had presented him with an ultrasound photo of their baby.

Zafir had not been pleased. When his shift had ended he'd gotten right into his car and driven all the way across the city to the dormitory where Hadiya was supposed to be living and told her roommate that she'd called and asked him to come and meet her boyfriend but he'd completely forgotten to write down the address.

Hadiya's roommate, the poor girl, had believed him, and scrawled the address to Malik's shop on the back of a receipt and handed it over.

Zafir had every intention of going there and possibly killing the boy who'd impregnated his daughter. He parked across the street and turned his eyes to the shop front window planning how to—And saw Malik and Hadiya in the shop, smiling and talking and laughing over a stack of newly purchased books on prenatal care and childrearing. Saw the love and respect glowing in their faces like little suns—And at that moment a peculiar thing happened.

His anger, all the taboo and unmentionable things that he had just slapped on his daughters at birth… melted away. He wasn't the father of two flighty, timid little girls who would one day be wives and bear him grandsons… He was the father of two beautiful, smart loving women, one of which would very soon make him a grandfather, and make this one armed man in the print shop a father.

When Zafir pushed open the front door and saw the horror and self awareness on his daughter's face when she and Malik looked up and noticed him, saw the growing fear… He felt terrible for taking away the joy that had been there just moments ago.

They didn't speak at first, Hadiya had scuttled into the back and returned with a large mug of coffee, whispering quietly her apologies.

"Don't apologize." He sat down in the back with them, and listened with a tense, uncomfortable expression on his face as Hadiya confidently told him what was happening, showed him pictures in the books they'd bought of how big the baby was, what it looked like, what it could do. That its heart was beating and it had grown arms and legs and fingers and toes. And hesitantly, as if wary that he may disapprove, or think their child ugly, she presented him with the ultrasound photo in a fine little frame Malik had bought so he could hang it on the wall.

Zafir held it for a moment in both hands, elbows on his knees, and stared at it. "You should tell your mother… I won't, but you should."

And over lunch at her parents' house that weekend, they had.

Her mother didn't mention, or let on that she'd known already. A mother's instinct is rarely wrong, she was quiet… Until Malik had uncomfortably followed Zafir outside for an after-dinner-walk that was oh so obviously going to be a meaningful conversation between the two men, and Hadiya was left alone with her mother and younger sister to do the dishes and clean up.

Years later Hadiya would still look back on the giggling and shameless chitchat that had gone on in that kitchen after her father and Malik had left the room, and blush the color of ripe strawberries.

It seemed that since the talk Hadiya had given Neema years before, Neema had then given to their mother, and all caution, all taboo, all the hidden and secret and just-not-talked-about-in-this-house feelings had been thrown to the wind like so much dust and ashes.

From that moment onward, everything that happened was uncharted territory. Neither Hadiya nor Malik had really known what to expect with the pregnancy, or with the almost giddy attitude of her parents, or Malik's own father for that matter. Who when he'd been told had burst out laughing and squeezed his son around the shoulders so hard Malik had turned purple. Despite the strangeness of it, despite Hadiya's mother's oh-so-helpful tidbits of information that made both of them blush like virgins. They managed to find a sense of normality. They'd gone as by-the-book as humanly possible. Hadiya had no caffeine, ate a strict diet of well balanced meals, no sugars or fatty foods. When she suffered nausea and vomiting, Malik would present her with unsalted wheat crackers and water flavored lightly with fresh ginger.

He even accompanied her to her second appointment with Lena… And sat rigidly in a chair staring into nothing and trying not to hear what the two women were talking about, all the while turning slightly green because he'd never known such things went on between a woman and her—her Lady Doctor.

Everything had gone as smoothly as it could…

Until she'd started showing, and Malik's hesitance with everything, his constant checking and rechecking of the stacks of books on pregnancy and childbirth, slowing… And he'd started—started looking at her like that… with his _eyes._

_What looks!_ Her heart fluttered.

How his hand was so gentle as he touched her elbow, or stroked the backs of her knuckles with his thumb when he would hold her hand. How at night he just lay in bed and LOOKED at her for hours and hours it seemed.

She'd mentioned it to her mother. That it was crazy, and maybe Malik was becoming a little sex crazed from their abstinence…

She just couldn't believe though, what her mother had said. That—that intimacy felt different when you were pregnant and there was no sense in abstaining completely…

She'd blushed and shook her head at her mother and compulsively twisted that little gold band on her finger that still felt unfamiliar. The books had said rigorous sex could cause premature labor, or in the early months cause a miscarriage…

"Well, the books aren't always right, you know. Your father and I—"

She'd been embarrassed by the mere thought that her mother was talking to her about sex of all things when not so very long ago she'd scolded and frowned and shaken her head in anger when Hadiya had been afraid of her period— How could the woman who'd seemed so cold when she'd been so afraid, now be smiling shamelessly, giggling and talking about how good sex felt when you were pregnant!

Hadiya, for a while, thought her mother had gone crazy, and filed away everything she was told in a little cabinet in her mind she'd labeled; 'Mom's Crazy Rambling', and had a feeling there would be an increasingly large volume of additions to it as her parents aged.

She'd completely dismissed it as insanity. Until Malik had started looking at her like that and she'd started—started feeling n-needing… And one day, blushing and giggling like children sneaking off to share stolen chocolate, she'd taken his fingers in her own and led him to bed.

Before that, there had always been a little tension between them. Something that always remained unnamed. Averted glances, etiquette, things one did not say or do or look at because it was taboo. One or the other had always been a little selfish, or a little angry, or a little hurt and looking for comfort, or looking _to_ comfort. They'd never met on even ground before. They loved one another dearly, but that hesitance, the insecurities had remained. It had taken almost six months for it all to sink in. Six months of sharing a bed and falling asleep embracing one another. Of waking up and just staring at themselves in the mirror, sometimes for twenty-minutes or more, back to chest, Malik's hand tracing the curve of her stomach above the waistband of her panties, the fingers of her right hand curled against his wrist, her left rubbing his cheek or pulling gently at the chain around his neck and the ring hanging from it that matched her own.

It took six months after she'd discovered the pregnancy. Three weeks after their wedding, amid the nausea, bloating, weird cravings and mood swings. Twenty-two days, five hours and six minutes, before they made love for the first time as husband and wife. But if asked, they would have both laughed and said it was worth it. It was worth it because during those six months, they'd learned more about one another, and more about themselves through that growing little life inside her, than they could have ever hoped to learn without it.

Malik, despite his urges to control everything, found himself completely defenseless against what was happening… and was glad for it. Yes, he tried to control it anyway, compulsively cleaned things, and woke up early to measure and draw out floor plans and bully Altair, or some of his friends he'd guilt tripped, into helping nail together two-by-fours and pull out the old plumbing, renovate the second floor quickly into five small apartments. One for Hadiya and himself, one for Altair and three to rent.

Yes, he was constantly reading the pregnancy books, and yes, he was worrying himself sick, but if he wasn't doing all those things he wouldn't have been who he was, and Hadiya decided she could survive the little bouts of chaos as long as Malik kept looking at her like that… the warmth and love and joy in his eyes she'd never seen before completely obliterating the tension and self consciousness when he looked at them standing together in the mirror, the times when they were alone, lying in bed touching the little moving feet and hands as they pressed into the growing bulge of her belly. Smiling and whispering to one another, and the life they'd created together.

Hadiya decided, the morning some two weeks before her due date, when she woke curled to Malik's side her fingers tangled in the front of his T-shirt, head on his chest, and noticed the chain around his neck was gone, and the ring that had danged from it had found a home on his right hand, that perhaps everything would end up OK, even if it didn't go exactly to Malik's, or her own plan because life, what a mysterious thing it is, has a way of evening things out, all you have to do is trust it.

_It's like morning sickness,_ she thought, nuzzling her cheek into Malik's ribs and pulling the quilt higher over them to ward off the steely chill of early December. _You have to endure it to get to the good parts, because the good parts are worth everything._

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_You guys need to go check out The-Nameless-Name on Deviant art. Most seriously. He did some art recently as part of a prize to NyaPowa because she caught the Easter Egg I planted in Far From Home. (Nameless has also inspired the story behind how the twins were conceived with this artwork. So, thank you NyaPowa for giving him such an awesome request!)_

_I've planted Easter Eggs all over the place guys, and she was the first to find one! I'll give you some hints on what to look for._

_#1… Weird tidbits of information that don't seem quite right. If it doesn't seem right, it's either an Easter Egg, or I've made a mistake. Either way, let me know! I'm not afraid of hearing that I've misspelled something, or that my research was flawed, or that something seems kind of weird. (Most of the misspellings, unless it grates on my OCD I probably won't bother changing until I've finished the fic and go back through to do revisions before I stamp a big COMPLETE on it, but if I've gotten my facts twisted, more than likely, unless it's an Easter Egg, I'll go back and change it.) EXAMPLE; A friend informed me that in a fic I had posted I'd had a Altair look at his watch to check the time… Only there weren't watches in the twelfth century. I almost died from how embarrassed I was. (Was my own fault for trying to work on an AU and a cannon time line fic at the same time.) I went back and changed that so fast I think my keyboard briefly caught on fire. _

_#2… Nods to other fanfics, or to TV shows, or movies or books. _

_At the moment, there are 4 unclaimed Easter Eggs. And I think this note is quite long enough…_

_LOVE, OZ_

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	7. Chapter 7

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_This chapter is dedicated to NyaPowa, for asking how Malik and Hadiya met. I brought this out, dusted it off and polished it. Hope it's not too crappy._

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**Chapter 7; How I Met Your Mother**

Malik had just turned nineteen three months before he met Hadiya.

He wasn't pleased at all when he met her actually, attending college part time with Altair. An associates degree in business management while the other young man was taking a few criminal justice related classes and sleeping his way through the money his parents shelled out to pay for his education. Malik, unlike Altair, wasn't doing very well, supporting his brother as Kadar started was finishing his senior year in high school, keeping Altair calm and out of trouble, all the while wondering if it wouldn't be easier to enlist and accept the government's proposition of a free education for his service.

Altair was already talking about it, set on it… Had been since he was thirteen. And whatever Altair did, Kadar wanted to do.

Malik was working in the campus post office as part of his work study program and one morning while he was struggling to stay awake, there she was.

She was sophomore, he was a freshman and she was passing out fliers. The psychology/sociology students were doing another weird study disguised as a compatibility surveys for Valentines Day.

She came up to him smiling, pink cheeked from the wind wearing a tan coat and slacks and a white hijab. "Good morning!"

"What's so good about it—" He grumbled, leaning his chin on his fists. When the Senior he was working with jabbed him in the ribs he flinched and raised his head, pasting a smile that was better qualified as a sneer on his face and folded his hands together; "—besides everything."

She snorted; "Right…" Her hands moved automatically handing over a thick stack of paper. "Can I leave these here?"

He spoke through his teeth; "Of course."

She stacked the papers in his little delivery window and waved over her shoulder in a rather derisive way and muttered; 'asshole' under her breath as she left.

A week later the stack of papers was still there when Malik came in for his shift. He'd caught a cold of some sort, his head was stuffy, throat sore and his nose was running… And no matter how many times he didn't cover his mouth when he sneezed or made sure to rub his face on Altair's pillow to infuse it with his germs, the bastard didn't have the common decency to get sick too. Worse than that Altair had gotten the cheap cold pills, not being eighteen for another six months, he hadn't had much choice, or so he'd claimed. They refused to sell the proper ones to you when your ID was the wrong color.

Malik had the sneaking suspicion it was more likely that the clerk hadn't sold the pills to Altair because he was dressed like a weirdo… and hadn't he ever heard of a BELT?

He grumbled through his tissues and sat atop his stool all afternoon.

Maybe it was the bloodshot, watery appearance of his eyes, or the heaping pile of crumpled Kleanex growing on the counter around him, but nobody came to the campus post office that afternoon. So, to amuse himself, Malik plucked up one of those forms and squinted at it, rubbed his eyes, squinted, and finally fumbled for his glasses, muttering viciously that he hated the damned things and wanted to smash them to sand and mix the glassy sharp powder with that tube of LOTION Altair kept on the shelf above his bed… Like Malik didn't know what he used it for.

The questions were rather simple and he blamed the fever he knew was slowly cooking his brain for the fact that he actually filled the fucking thing out.

_NAME? Yes, I have one… It's Malik. Shall I name something else?_

_SEX; Male_

_AGE & BIRTH DATE; 19; __November 15, 1979_

_MAJOR; Business Management _

_PHYSICAL ORIENTATION; Seated, facing forward_

_RELIGION? Why is there a question mark here? _

_FAVORITE FOOD; Kosher Hotdogs_

_FAVORITE MOVIE; 'Enter the Dragon' with Bruce Lee_

_FAVORITE MUSIC; Anything that does not involve Altair's musical armpits or his 'booty trumpet'_

_A WORD THAT WILL MEAN SOMETHING SIGNIFICANT; What the hell does this have to do with anything?_

_WHICH IS THE MOST IMPORTANT TO YOU OF THE ABOVE MENTIONED? Which of the above mentioned? The one directly above this? Or any of the categories? You're not gathering enough information to make a well informed and meaningful comparison between two persons. But, in the spirit of trying not to be such an asshole— Yes, I heard you the other day, Fatima. You've got quite the foul mouth on you— The most important thing to be in a relationship would be love, and since I don't believe this survey has anything to do with love or relationships at all I can say that I think this whole thing is a waste of time and I will never get the five minutes of my short, pathetic life I've put into this monstrosity, back._

He giggled to himself and just for fun, slid the paper into the box to be collected by the Psy Majors the next morning. He thought about it for a few minutes, then plucked up the box and began organizing the pages… About half way down the pile he found a familiar signature.

_NAME? Altair Ibn-La'Ahad_

_SEX; Male_

_AGE & BIRTH DATE; 17; __August 13, 1981_

_MAJOR; General _

_PHYSICAL ORIENTATION; Switch_

_RELIGION? Non-affiliated _

_FAVORITE FOOD; Chips_

_FAVORITE MOVIE; Spartacus _

_FAVORITE MUSIC; Everything _

_A WORD THAT WILL MEAN SOMETHING SIGNIFICANT; eight inches_

_WHICH IS THE MOST IMPORTANT TO YOU OF THE ABOVE MENTIONED?_

_Movies, and music. I don't care about the orientation, or religion. _

Just to be mean he used a pencil and drew an arrow pointing to the 'eight inches' and wrote below it; _'You wish.' _before he stuck the papers back in the box and spent the last hour of his shift grinning deviously and sneezing.

He didn't think anything else about it for a week… Until he woke up to Altair coming in from breakfast grumbling and cursing and practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid badger.

Malik lifted his head and ground out a customary; "What the fuck's bothering you?"

Altair turned, face twisted in rage, and flipped a pink index card at him.

Written on the index card was a name. The name, presumably, of the person Altair was most compatible with according to the survey.

"I know that girl," He was saying. "We have that stupid speech forensics class together."

"The class they put you in because you checked the wrong forensics?" Malik felt his mood lightening. He did so love to point out Altair's stupidity sometimes.

Altair threw his pillow at him and flopped onto his face across the bed. "She's stoned half the time and has braces… Do you know how painful it is to get a blowjob from a girl with braces?"

Malik snorted and for good measure rubbed his face on Altair's pillow again, layering on a few more germs; "No, and neither do you."

"Shut up."

"She can't be that bad, if you're so compatible."

Altair snorted; "We compared surveys… Our answers were similar, but what they MEAN wasn't." he rolled into a sitting position and pulled a folded paper from his pocket, brandishing it at Malik with a sneer. "Read that."

Malik didn't have to, but he took it and squinted at the answers on the print out.

It was a typed questionnaire, just like before, but it had both their answers on it.

_NAME? _

_Altair Ibn-La'Ahad_

**_Patricia Adel Huntington _**

_SEX; _

_Male_

**_Female_**

_AGE & BIRTH DATE; _

_17; __August 13, 1981_

**_17; _****_July 30, 1981_**

_MAJOR; _

_General _

**_Education_**

_PHYSICAL ORIENTATION; _

_Switch_

**_What?_**

_RELIGION? _

_Non-affiliated _

**_Catholic_**

_FAVORITE FOOD; _

_Chips_

**_Chips and dip_**

_FAVORITE MOVIE; _

_Spartacus _

**_Ben-Hur_**

_FAVORITE MUSIC; _

_Everything _

**_Everything_**

_A WORD THAT WILL MEAN SOMETHING SIGNIFICANT; _

_eight inches _

**_deep throat_**

_WHICH IS THE MOST IMPORTANT TO YOU OF THE ABOVE MENTIONED?_

_Movies, and music. I don't care about the orientation, or religion. _

**_Music and movies and food. I'm an excellent cook. And I don't want anybody ugly. Ugly people make me vomit. _**

Malik snorted and flipped the card back at him; "It sounds like you'll get along wonderfully."

Altair turned red and looked as if he wanted to break Malik's legs, but he miraculously did not.

Officially awake now, Malik made himself get out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and his coat and shoved his feet into his shoes.

"Where do you think you're going?" Altair snarled.

"Coffee, and then maybe to the library… What do you care anyway?" He rolled his eyes; "If you bring that girl over here, at least have the fucking decency not to do it on my bed, and put a hat or a sock or something on the door so I don't walk in on you again… I very nearly choked to death on my tongue when I walked in on you last time."

_"You_ choked? Did you not SEE what I was doing?"

Malik shuddered; "Yes, I saw it… And it will haunt my dreams forever."

Altair made a rude farting noise between his lips and threw something at him as he left. From the sound it made bouncing off the door Malik was willing to bet it had been one of his textbooks.

Malik didn't even think about the fact he'd filled out one of the surveys himself as he trudged across campus. He saw people walking around looking at pink or blue index cards and puzzling over printouts of survey results, but it didn't occur to him until he'd gotten to the student post office and opened his box, that he had results as well.

There were random things in his box. His student ID, he must have left it somewhere, a letter from his brother, a box of checks he got every so often from the bank. A letter reminding him of a dentist appointment… And an envelope. A bright green envelope with his name scratched across the front in black sharpie.

He blinked at it, plucked it out of the box and opened it.

Inside was his original survey, on which, in red pen had been written a note;

_"My name is not Fatima, its Hadiya. Don't insult me by pretending to know me just because of my faith."_

He was taken aback and after shaking himself free of it, he searched the page up and down in confusion. He'd never really had many girls talk to him, let alone talk down to him like that. He was quite shy after all, he'd only had one girlfriend, and she didn't really count… He'd been seven after all.

Women were strange willowy creatures with big eyes and things on their chests he sometimes found himself staring at… He was surprised to realize he'd offended one of them.

Then he turned the survey over, and on the back of the page, almost as an afterthought; _"I can't give you back those five minutes, but how about I take thirty more and you meet me for coffee in Room 118. Leave your attitude behind, I have enough of my own for both of us."_

Malik stared at the note for a moment. Unsure exactly what it meant, his mind running circles like a hamster in a wheel jazzed on crack and triple caf.

And then, as if someone had lit a fire under a kettle of water and it had slowly, slowly, slowly started to raise a boil, Malik's lips twitched at the corners and curled slowly, slowly, slowly upward.

Well now… Maybe this whole compatibility survey bullshit, wasn't quite as full of bullshit as he'd thought.

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	8. Chapter 8

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_Part One in a series of Chapters NyaPowa inspired me to write. I'd had a hint of this story in my head while working on Fast Cars, but it had never really seemed real to me. Just some pale back story… Turns out it is anything but pale and once or twice while writing this I found myself tearing up. _

_So, Thanks Nya… You made the All Powerful OZ cry!_

_*gropes for more tissue*_

Takes place at the same time as _First Born Son._

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**Chapter 8; Dim Words**

Hadiya had been in class when she got the news. The professor was lecturing on the signs and symptoms of sexual abuse in children with mental handicaps when her cell phone had buzzed in her pocket.

It rang for a few minutes quietly, all the while she had her jacket pressed over her lap to deaden the noise of the vibration, trying to pretend to look for it in an irritated way like the other people around her.

The phone went quiet for a little bit, then rang again, and this time the professor stopped his lecture and glared at her; "Ms. Salim-Jabari, would you kindly take yourself, and your cellular device out into the hallway? Some of us are trying to learn."

She blushed to the roots of her hair, but looked at the ground and nodded, gathering her things and quickly leaving the room. Feeling all her classmates eyes on her like lasers set to burn her to a crisp.

Once into the hall she fetched her phone from the confines of her pocket and flipped it open, staring at the number on the screen. She didn't recognize it at first, but she did recognize the name.

Why would Malik's father be calling her? He barely approved of her as it was because she hadn't worn a Hijab the first time they'd met, and a million other tiny reasons… She was opinionated, loud and had a higher degree of education than Malik… And a woman shouldn't be smarter than a man.

Hadiya had flipped her hand and dismissed him as a trite old man with control issues and a fear of having his wants and needs put on the back burner.

The idea that he was calling her sent a cold chill up her spine.

When the phone rang again she answered it, her voice catching in her throat as if covered in razor sharp barbs. "Hello?"

He spoke in a low, horrifyingly calm voice, and the fact it was so without emotion made Hadiya's blood freeze.

"There was a car bomb."

She didn't even realize her legs had given out until she was sitting in the hallway floor with her shoulders leaned against the wall staring at the water fountain across from her over the tops of her knees.

"They're bringing him to Baltimore by air… I-I don't drive…" And that was probably the first bit of emotion she heard in his voice. Just the slightest bit of tremble, and Hadiya understood that this was as close to asking her for help as Gadil Yazid Al-Sayf would ever come.

She swallowed thickly and nodded, as if psyching herself up for what was ahead of them. "I-I'll be right there." She swallowed an ache in her throat; "Just have your things ready."

He didn't say thank you, didn't say anything, just hung up and left Hadiya sitting there in the hall as if her whole world had come to an end.

After a moment she closed her phone and pressed her hands tightly together to stop the shaking.

She called her father, trying to keep her voice calm and waited until the nurse paged him and he'd picked up the phone before she said anything at all.

"What's happened that you would call me at work?"

She swallowed back the burn in her sinuses and just said it; "Malik was hurt… They're flying him into Baltimore… Mr. Al-Sayf called and needs me to take him there… He doesn't drive."

Her father's voice lowered and became very serious, very business like; "How bad is it?"

"I don't know… I've just got this knot in my chest— Daddy, I have to."

Zafir let his breath out in a whoosh; "Stop by the hospital on your way to pick him up… I don't want you driving that tin-can of yours all the way to Baltimore… It's fine here in the city, but that is a very long way." He took a deep breath. "I'm transferring funds into your account, I'll call your aunt Jina, you can stay with her."

"She lives in Richmond—"

"I don't want you staying alone. It's done, no arguments."

She sealed her lips and was quiet, slowly gathering her things.

"Hadiya… If they're flying him all the way to Baltimore you understand that it's serious, right?"

"Yes."

"You must remain calm and quiet. Excitement could be very harmful to him… And if—" He was quiet for a moment and she heard him swallow; "If it happens that he doesn't survive, remember yourself."

She felt a little insulted that he thought it necessary to say such a thing. 'Remember yourself' what a load of crap. If he—if he didn't survive whatever had happened to him what was she supposed to do sit there silently with her hands folded in her lap? Not shed a tear because the world would think her weak for it? Would turning herself to stone somehow make something like that easier to bear?

"I'm going now." She swallowed a sick feeling in her belly and swung her bag onto her shoulder as she stood. "I'll be there shortly and I'll call once I've picked Mr. Al-Sayf up and we're underway." A pause; "Thank you for understanding."

He whispered a quick goodbye and ended the call but Hadiya wasn't listening, she was practically running across campus, fear like a cold shard in her chest.

She'd known Malik less than a year but it already felt as if she'd known him her whole life, as cliché as it sounded. He was smart, dedicated, loyal, kind and silly sometimes. Yes, he could be a bit of an ass on occasion, but she herself could be a bit of a bitch when she wanted to so it all evened itself out.

There was snow on the ground and she tripped, going down with a startled bark onto her hands and right hip, ice scraping and cutting her palms, but after a hiss and a colorful curse she'd learned from a friend, she was up again, running. Ignoring the startled faces of other students as she took up the stairs two at a time, slacks wet from where she'd fallen, coat smeared with mud.

The dormitory door was closed and she shoved it open with a grunt, cursing the cold and how the damned thing always seemed to stick when you needed through the most. She stabbed the elevator call button eight times in rapid succession stepping back slowly to catch her breath and inspect the torn skin of her hands. Growing and pressing the left to her lips to separate a now useless bit of ragged skin, shoving herself onto the elevator as it dinged to a stop, startling a few other girls trying to exit.

The cable pulled hell box didn't seem to want to go fast enough and Hadiya paced around the empty inside like a caged lioness, hurt palms up and wet with blood and tears she hadn't even realized were streaming down her face.

_It's a nightmare,_ she told herself. _It's all just a nightmare. You'll wake up and he'll call and everything will be OK. It has to be. _

_This can't be happening…_

Her heart was ready to pound right from her chest as the elevator stopped and she forced herself out through doors that hadn't even opened all the way, dashing toward her room with the single minded determination of a madwoman.

The door to her room was open, her roommate Alexandra giving the place its weekly cleaning, her vacuum going at high speed, her stereo turned up full blast.

Alexandra was a shorter girl, plump with ashy blonde hair and a nose ring. She was a Liberal Arts major and all that that implies. At first Hadiya had been a little frightened and disgusted of her. Thinking she was some ugly mannish girl with a mouth bigger than her brain, but living with her for two years now had completely changed her mind.

Alexandra was a kind and loving person by nature, but she was also very much a tigress, because if one were to piss her off, her temper and thirst for revenge were insatiable.

Hadiya stumbled into their room with her hands out and her face twisted in anguish.

"'xandra… 'xandra, it's M-Malik."

The blonde gave her vacuum cord a yank, silencing it and grabbed the taller girl by the shoulders. Her first thought, upon seeing the state of her friend, was that Dear Malik had decided to take what was not his and hurt her friend, and plump pale cheeks turned red as poison apples. "What happened—I'll KILL HIM!"

Hadiya was shaking her head back and forth back and forth, eyes squeezed closed because she couldn't stop images of Malik hurt or dieing from flashing in her mind. "No—No, Ma-Malik's hurt… I-I have to go."

Alexandra gave her head a shake, finally remembering where she was and the vast number of conversations she'd had with Hadiya about Dear Boyfriend joining the military and shipping over seas. Passionate, Alexandra was… Consistently logical, she was not. "Okay, where is he?"

"They're—" She swallowed past a sob and continued—"They're sending him to Baltimore."

"How are you gonna get there?"

"I-I'm going to drive… I have to get my father's car a-and pick up Malik's dad." She swallowed again, opening her eyes and staring without blinking at her roommate; "I don't know how to get to Baltimore."

Alexandra nodded and turned away long enough to snatch up the road atlas she kept around to plan Spring Break trips or just generally memorize the roadways of America in her spare time. She used a pink highlighter pen and marked the shortest path from Chicago to Maryland while Hadiya washed and treated the cuts on her hands and stuffed some clothes into one of her smaller suitcases.

Alexandra pushed through Hadiya's side of their closet and found some clean clothes for her, then used a damp paper towel and a dryer sheet to take the mud from her friend's coat while she changed.

Hadiya had gathered her things and was ready to leave in less than fifteen minutes and as she was going Alexandra grabbed her around the shoulders and kissed the edge of her lips for luck then shouted at her back not to worry about class work she'd explain everything to the professors for her and mail the assignments to Hadiya's Aunt in Virginia.

It was snowing again by the time Hadiya made it to her father's hospital, he was already outside, scraping ice from the windshield of his Jeep and making sure all the fluids in the engine were properly filled. He didn't offer a hug, or a kiss on the head as she'd wanted him to, as she'd known he would do if he approved of what she was doing, instead he pointed to a take-out bag from McDonalds in the passenger seat; "Chicken sandwiches and two coffees. Use the four-wheel-drive if there is too much snow on the road and don't go over the speed limit."

She nodded and climbed behind the wheel, slapping at stubborn tears that threatened to leak out again as she backed the boxy car out of its space and started across town.

Mr. Al-Sayf was standing on the curb waiting when she arrived. Clicking on the emergency flashers she didn't even pull out of the road, just stopped long enough for him to toss his bag into the back seat and climb in.

He hadn't packed much. A lumpy duffle with the sleeve of a sweater sticking out, his coat and a carton of cigarettes under his arm. He didn't ask, just turned the heater on, rolled down his window and lit one. Puffing at a slow pace between trembling fingers.

They were out of Chicago and on the interstate before Hadiya spoke, and then it was only because she could bear the silence no more. "Did they tell you how badly he was injured?"

Gadil grunted and took a long drag on his third cigarette, leaning his head a little farther out the window as he exhaled, speaking loudly into the rush of cold air; "I was asleep… A man knocked on the door, one of the representatives from the Recruitment center." Another smoky inhale; "He came in and sat me down… 'told me there had been an accident, that Kadar was dead and Malik was severely injured and being flown back to the states for treatment."

Hadiya felt her stomach drop out again. Kadar too? She'd only met him a few times, most usually when she Malik and Malik's roommate Altair would meet the younger boy for pizza or when she'd insisted on taking the three of them shopping before they'd gone off to Basic Training. It seemed impossible to her that Malik's little brother, the boy he'd worked three different jobs to support and spoke to every evening for hours on the phone, was dead. What kind of shape would Malik be in when they reached him? Not physically. She could handle the physical, anything that had happened to him bodily she would learn to live with because she loved him so very, very much.

Mentally?

Could she still love him if there was nothing left of the young man she'd fallen for? If everything that made Malik MALIK, his wit and temper and cunning— If all of that was gone would she still be able to love him?

It was a hard question, but she knew the answer instantly, without having to debate with herself or weigh the pros and cons of the situation.

_Yes… no matter what has happened to him, I'll love him._

"I thought they had trauma hospitals set up—"

"They sent him home…"

She ground her teeth and took a few slow breaths before she spoke, promising herself she was going to remain calm, she wouldn't cry in front of Malik's father. No matter what he said next, she was not going to cry; "Is he going to die, Mr. Al-Sayf?"

When he didn't say anything Hadiya pushed the thought away and returned her attention to the road.

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It was dark by the time they arrived at the hospital, dark and the black silhouette of a helicopter was sitting on the roof, rotors spinning. It was somehow ominous looking and Hadiya felt drawn to it like a moth to flame.

It was snowing again, fat flakes the size of half dollars batting at her face and limbs as she followed Mr. Al-Sayf to the main entrance. He spoke briefly with a man at the front desk, and a few minutes later a doctor in blue-green scrubs and a white lab coat came down on the elevator. He spoke quickly and used his hands a lot and Hadiya picked everything about him apart without hearing a word he said.

The doctor was nervous, kept twisting his cap between his thin long fingers. Muscles twitching beneath his skin. Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow and he blinked too much.

_He's sugar coating things… Trying to calm us down. _

They followed the doctor to the elevator, smoothly up Hadiya didn't know how many floors, and onto a quiet ward with nurses and other doctors bustling about in a quick, precise, military fashion.

Hadiya's brain seemed to slow everything down, picking apart details she wouldn't have noticed before. The rooms were dark, and in a few colorful lights flashed on monitors and breathing machines.

The smell of antiseptic was strong, and the air conditioning was turned up, keeping everything chilled enough that she was surprised she didn't see her breath in the air. There were no visitors in the occupied rooms. She imagined families close by in a waiting room huddled in uncomfortable chairs under coats turned blankets, heads pillowed on purses or rolled jackets. She imagined pacing worried bodies, nails bitten until they bled. Tears and boxes of tissue on each chair.

They'd stopped in front of one of the occupied rooms, and Hadiya was trying to peer in, knowing in her heart that Malik was in there and that he needed her. She could feel it as if there were hooks in her very soul tugging her forward. It was physically painful that she couldn't see him. That the nurses had pulled the curtains and were moving around in there and everything was so quiet.

And then the doctor was leading them in, holding back the curtain and Hadiya's heart was in her throat.

There was a brief moment of joyous relief when she saw him. There was a thick gauze patch above his left eye and more on the side of his neck. His face was bruised and his nose was just ever so slightly off center and looked swollen. His hair was very short… She wasn't sure she liked it so short. He looked very handsome when it was long enough to show off its curl. And at first she thought the little fuzzy patch of hair on his chin was funny, but she warmed to it quickly… Rougish. Yes, that wasn't bad at all… Wasn't he supposed to have been hurt?

A bump on the head and a broken nose surely wouldn't… Where… Where was his other hand?

And then her eyes caught the filmy negative stuck to a lightbox on the wall and her stomach shoved itself up under her tonsils and refused to move.

The doctor was speaking in a low voice to Mr. Al-Sayf, motioning with his little finger at the X-ray.

"The blast itself took everything below his elbow… A shard of his radius tore into the artery here and a tourniquet was applied in the field. The resulting tissue damage, as well as the splintering of his humerus here, was extensive. Pins were placed here, and here to hold the bone together… Doctor Henley performed the initial surgery, and Doctor Radcliffe and I did the follow up a few hours ago to relieve the pressure from swelling and remove the necrotic tissue…" He motioned to the second X-ray with a low almost apologetic sigh; "This is the result… He's on wide spectrum antibiotics right now and we're praying that will take care of the infection… If not a third surgery will be required and if that happens Doctor Radcliffe suggests amputation at the shoulder joint."

"When will we know if the—" He swallowed, "—If the antibiotics are working?"

The surgeon displayed his palms and spoke gently, trying to be comforting in his own way; "I'll let you know as soon as I do."

Gadil nodded and tightened his shaking hands into fists at his sides. "Is he conscious?"

"He's been partially sedated. It means less stress on his body as it's trying to heal. He's not in any pain though, so don't worry, and as soon as he's recovered enough he'll be moved to a private room, but right now it's best if he stays right here so that, should anything happen, we'll be able to treat him quickly and efficiently and get the best help we can to him as soon as he needs it."

Gadil nodded again and took a deep breath; "What about my other son? Kadar?"

The doctor seemed to freeze for a moment, and his breath came out slowly; "I don't know about that, Sir… But I'll make sure you get in touch with the person who does." He glanced at the clock, offered his hand and gave Gadil's a firm shake, as if that made everything better. He paused before Hadiya as he left and offered a firm, impartial grip on her palm, then disappeared into the hallway and was gone.

Mr. Al-Sayf seemed to sag in on himself. He covered his face for a moment and braced himself against the wall with his other hand. He stood there for a long while before with a low breath he shuffled forward and dropped into the chair beside the bed. He found Malik's right hand and pressed it between his own, brushing the end of his nose against his son's knuckles.

Hadiya would never try to make him admit to what happened next, there were just some things you didn't talk about or notice in such a situation, and the single moment of grief that engulfed a man while leaning over his injured child's bed is one of them. She waited until the moment had passed, trying not to look, but indelibly hypnotized with each gentle brush of Malik's father's fingertips and knuckles against his cheek, or over his hair.

Hadiya had always thought the way Malik's father treated him and his brother was calloused, cold and heartless almost. But she saw through that now, saw that his disconnectivity hadn't been his choice at all. It had been how he was raised, how he'd been taught and how he'd taught his sons. It was tradition reaching back hundreds of years, it was the stoicism and pride of a culture still surviving and thriving today. But none of that meant that Gadil didn't love his sons. None of that meant that he hadn't loved his wife and mourned her passing with every bit of himself. None of it meant that what had happened didn't hurt, and in his own way he would have to grieve and come to terms with this loss.

_Everything,_ Hadiya whispered to herself; _everything would be so much easier if we didn't have to worry about propriety or the social acceptance. Everything would be so much easier if we could just be humans, just be people with needs and emotions. It's not right to keep them bottled in so. _

She approached the bed slowly and let her own fingers brush against Malik's fevered cheek, bowing her head to whisper words of love and encouragement into his ear.

And when the nurse came around and said it was time for them to leave, that they could stay in the waiting room for the night Hadiya sat there with her hands folded in her lap beside Mr. Al-Sayf in the uncomfortable chairs and waited.

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	9. Chapter 9

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_Part Two of Three in a series of Chapters NyaPowa inspired me to write._

_Short chapter written in Hadiya's POV, set shortly after Dim Words. Sort of a stream of consciousness thing… I guess. I dreamed about her sitting in the hospital waiting room with a little notebook with a kitten on it writing this and I woke up crying, please forgive any egregious errors because this really messed with me. _

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**Chapter 9; Pointless**

I've never considered myself a strong woman. Despite the front I put up for everyone to see. I've never desired to be anything other than what I am and who I am. But I walked in to a hospital room last night and all of that changed.

How do people do it? Be brave I mean? I wish I was brave, if I could be brave maybe that would make this waiting easier. Maybe if I weren't so scared I would be able to say something to Mr. Al Sayf to make him feel better. Maybe I could say something to make any of the people here feel better, but I can't. I try, but I can't.

The doctor's palms sweat because he's nervous so he moves them a lot to dry them so when he shakes your hand you're not moist between the palms.

I hate handshakes.

The receptionist won't even attempt to pronounce Malik's name right. She's prejudice and doesn't try to hide it well. She singles us out and is purposefully nice and accommodating to us but none of the other people here. She's trying, but making herself super conscious of us and putting so much effort into being civil is worse than hostility. I'd rather she just ignore us like she does everyone else.

The woman beside us came in this morning, her son was in an accident at the Air Force base not far from here. She mutters to herself, trying to boost her confidence and reassure herself that he'll be OK. She's alone, widowed, only child just a few doors away unimaginably hurt… Part of me wishes she and Mr. Al Sayf would talk to one another. They seem to have a lot in common and could possibly comfort one another more efficiently than I can.

I feel so useless.

How do you tell someone who could be waiting for their loved one to die, that everything will be alright? How do I convince myself that everything will happen as it will?

My father would say 'Have faith, Allah wills it, it shall happen,' but how do you have faith when that will seems so unfair? How do any of us keep faith in such a situation, when someone you love has been so cruelly hurt and could at that moment be dying?

What do I do? How do I help?

Mr. Al Sayf likes his coffee black with three sugars. He prefers cinnamon in it, but there isn't any. When my aunt comes to get me tonight I'll ask if I can take some of hers back with me tomorrow.

Maybe that will help.

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The infection hasn't shown any sign of abating. It's been twenty-four hours… The doctors look worried. They try not to smile or frown and keep their hands above their waists. The nurse has a nervous tic, she bites her lip when she's not telling the truth.

She said Malik would be alright. She was biting her lip.

I'm afraid he will die. I don't know what I'd do with myself if he did.

I don't know how Mr. Al Sayf is dealing with this, is he dealing with it at all? He's had five cups of coffee already now and he's very quiet. I guess the cinnamon didn't help.

He stood outside the hospital's All Faith Temple as a guard I guess while I was in there. He's not left me alone and I-I'm glad. I don't know anyone here, and some of the men in the waiting room are giving us looks. They make me nervous… I wish Malik weren't hurt. I wish Kadar wasn't—

How could this happen? Why? It doesn't feel real, like a bad dream I just can't wake up from. I don't want to be here, I don't want this to happen. Why can't I wake up?

Remember yourself. Remember yourself. Remember yourself.

What is there to remember?

I love him and he's dying.

My aunt dropped me off this morning and stayed for a while but she had to go home to take care of my cousins.

I feel helpless because I don't know anything here. My mind is a raw nerve, exposed and pulsating, and I can't help but sit here and psychoanalyze people around me based on their mannerisms and actions.

I'm pathetic.

I feel like I'm losing my mind and it's only been twenty-four hours.

I'm going insane. I'm going insane. I'm going insane. I'm going insane. I'm going insane. I'm going insane. I'm going insane. I'm going insane. I'm going insane.

I'm going insane. I'm going insane. I'm going insane.

Remember yourself.

What does that even mean? How does he expect me to remain stoic in the face of this? Malik is hurt, he's lying in there fighting for his life and all I can do is sit here and scribble in a stupid notebook and go insane because I'm stupid and I don't know what to do with myself!

Mr. Al Sayf isn't happy. What an understatement. There should be a new word invented for how furious he is, but he won't show it. Just grits his teeth and stares at his hands. He has a vein above his left eye that twitches. Malik's does the same thing when he's upset. He scowls and every so often he shakes his head, sometimes he's so still and tense I feel uncomfortable, but then he'll hold his breath for a few seconds and force himself to relax.

I want to scream.

THEY won't tell him what's happened to Kadar's body.

I want to say something, to comfort him, but I can't. I can't do anything.

It's been twenty-four hours…

I feel so pointless.

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	10. Chapter 10

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**Chapter 10; Into the Night: Part One**

Hadiya had one dress she'd never worn before. It was red… A deep, sanguine color, sleeveless, with gathering down each side that made it cling to her like a second skin. She'd bought it the year before Zafir was born while shopping with her sister, imagining herself going to fancy restaurants with Malik and rubbing other women's noses in the fact she was married to one of, if not the only perfect man in existence.

Now, going through her closet and packing away the things that wouldn't fit her for at least another year or more, Hadiya came across this dress, holding it out with one hand the other on her stomach, she let out a sad sigh.

Malik, who had been neatly folding things into a lavender plastic storage box glanced up and spotted her. "What is it?"

She hummed; "I've had this for almost three years now and haven't worn it." A sigh; "There's no need to keep it."

His lower lip poked out dramatically, eyes narrowed and Hadiya was reminded that he was just full of the strangest, and cutest expressions.

"You look good in red…"

"I've had it for three years and it's still got the tag on it."

"Does it still fit?"

She pursed her lips and looked at him over her shoulder; "Have you seen the size of my waist?" She turned and showcased it like Vanna White.

Twins grew at the same rate as a single baby, but the fact there was two of them, well… Not that Malik would complain. He had always thought pregnant women were, for lack of a better word… _hot_. Hadiya doubly so.

"It's stretchy," he motioned to it with a folded blouse; "See if it still fits."

She rolled her eyes and disappeared into the bathroom with it. There was no way it would still fit, stretchiness notwithstanding.

She pulled her shirt off and stepped out of her slacks, taking a moment to admire the proud jutting bowl of her belly for a moment before she slipped the dress off its hanger and over her head.

It slid over her stomach, the gathering leaving an attractive rippled effect, hugging her body tightly all the way to her hips where it flared into the skirt.

Huh, it did still fit… It just made it _very_ obvious that she was pregnant.

She turned left and right scrutinizing her reflection before with a surprised, albeit happy smile she stepped out of the bathroom and did a slow spin, arms up—

And Malik was standing there grinning, holding her coat at the ready.

"W-what are you doing?"

"The kids are at your parents', Altair and Ezio are monopolizing the TV." His grin widened. "We've only got so long left until the babies come, we should enjoy having free time that you're not feeling poorly, when we get it… And seeing as you're already dressed for the occasion…"

She narrowed her eyes; "You sneaky, sneaky man." Hands propped on her hips she approached and kissed him quickly before shrugging into her coat and picking through the shoes she'd piled on the bed for a pair that wouldn't hurt her feet. She settled on black flats with good soles and a nice squishy arch support.

Altair was lying on the couch, his head on Ezio's lap when they came down the steps. He looked up, blinked and grinned broadly. He tapped Ezio's thigh, drawing the younger man's attention away from the movie.

Ezio turned and whistled low; "Nice dress."

Altair wrinkled his brow playfully; "Hey, Malik, you're not gonna wear that are you? I'm not tryin' to interfere or anything but—" He bared his teeth.

Malik froze and looked down at himself. There was absolutely nothing wrong with what he was wearing. Hadiya's mother had made that sweater for him, thank you very much, it was soft and his favorite shade of black. He scowled at Altair warningly. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

Altair made a flourishing hand gesture as if he were bowing and yawned widely. "I'm gettin' there… Of course, shopping all day was probably premature—"

"I told you so," Ezio swatted the side of his head. "And now you'll be awake all night because you've done nothing but sleep since we got back."

Altair leaned his head back and grinned that crooked grin of his, trailing his finger up and down the length of Ezio's forearm.

Ezio tried to ignore him and turned his attention to Malik; "So, you got a hot date or something?"

Malik blushed, Hadiya practically preened; "He can be very spontaneous when he wants to be."

Altair didn't let slip that Malik was probably just doing it in hopes of getting laid, but he sent the other a meaningful look and the printer's cheeks went even redder.

Ezio smiled and scratched gently through Altair's hair; "We should go on a date again sometime, it was fun."

Altair shrugged, "How 'bout now? I could eat something… Burgers?"

Hadiya rolled her eyes; "That is not a date."

Ezio shrugged; "Doesn't bother me."

Malik snorted and lifted his chin while Hadiya straightened his collar; "Altair doesn't have a romantic bone in his body."

Hadiya smiled and patted his chest affectionately; "Oh, yes, you're Mister Romance, we all know."

Altair snorted. "Is that what the 'R' in his name means? I thought it meant 'Rasheed'."

Malik scowled. "This is what you stoop to? Shall I tell Ezio what was originally on your birth certificate?"

Altair held up his hands in surrender.

Ezio thought it was all amusing and continued combing his fingers through Altair's hair. "I don't have a middle name," He sounded smug.

Altair rolled his eyes; "My name was almost eight words long at first, so be glad of that," He pushed himself up and stretched, cracking his back and giving Ezio's thigh an affectionate squeeze; "Burgers?"

"Burgers."

Malik groaned; "You are not going to Burger King on a date, you are not teenagers!"

"Then what would you suggest, Mister Romance?" Altair narrowed his eyes.

Malik bristled and was preparing to say something degrading when Hadiya put both hands on his face and squished his cheeks together until he looked like a Cabbage Patch doll with a goatee. "Why don't they come with us. A double date, we haven't been on a double date since we WERE teenagers," She cooed and pressed a few sweet coaxing kisses to Malik's nose and face.

Altair nudged Ezio again and leaned close whispering; "Watch closely, THIS is how the Master works."

Malik seemed to go red as a brick, he scowled and tried not to look at Hadiya, grumbled and wrinkled his nose, shaking his head while Hadiya kissed and petted and cooed in Swahili.

Ezio had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing aloud.

Malik squirmed and shook his head again, trying not to look his wife in the face, "No… no," and his hand slid around Hadiya's waist and dangerously close to the back of her skirt. She allowed him one good grope before she whispered something soundlessly into his ear. His eyes rolled back in his head. She swatted his fingers sharply and he seemed to bark in a high pitched voice; "FINE!" He cleared his throat and tried again; "Fine, they can come…" He staggered back a few paces and Altair was thoroughly amused to see him trying to pull the flaps of his coat closed over the lump in his slacks.

Hadiya seemed pleased beyond words and merely gave Malik a long, heavy lidded look that promised he would be rewarded for his _generosity_, later.

Altair was a little irritated at having to change clothes. He complained that his shirt choked him and his belt nudged his bandaging too much, but the moment he saw Ezio come out of the bathroom wearing a borrowed pair of Malik's slacks he decided he could handle anything. Ezio looked damned good in all black, even if he was still wearing his Vans with the red laces.

Oh, yes… Ezio looked good and the excited smile on his face only made it better. He dragged his brush through his hair and tied it back then brushed imaginary lint from Altair's shirt and tried to straighten his irreparably mussed hair. "If you didn't wear a hood all the time your hair wouldn't do this, you know… Observe," He motioned to the back of his own head.

Altair shrugged. "I'm gonna shave it in a few days anyway so it doesn't matter—"

Ezio looked up at him sternly. "You're what?"

"Nuthin."

Ezio and Hadiya talked quietly while Malik drove and Altair watched the city pass by the window. They talked about the pregnancy, had she felt the babies moving yet, had Malik craved anything REALLY unusual. Was she excited or nervous? Was Malik excited or nervous? What was it like being pregnant?

"It's very tiring…" She said as they climbed out of the car, "This is one of the first evenings I've actually felt well enough to do anything—Oh, is that music?" Hadiya's face lit up, "Dancing? They have dancing?"

Malik looked Altair in the face and grinned deviously as he passed.

**POINT ONE; Malik**

The restaurant itself was dimly lit, tables recessed into little niches in the wall with decorative curtains to promote a sense of privacy, intimacy. Candles on each table in colorful little votive glasses—Ezio had the almost uncontrollable urge to steal the one on their table because it was the same color blue-green his mother had painted the kitchen—He leaned to the side and whispered that to Altair, who chuckled quietly, lips curled up into a smile.

There was dancing, much to Hadiya's delight, and a small live band playing lively music in the far end of the room as a few couples danced. She moved excitedly in her seat in time with it as the waiter—a tall, thin young man with tousled dark hair—arranged a series of water glasses on the table for them and said he would be back shortly for their orders.

Ezio peered at the menu and practically drooled. He elbowed Altair gently in the side and pointed; "You want this, trust me. It's beef, not pork—It's so good it will give your taste buds orgasms."

"Oh, I think I'd like that as well," Hadiya said calmly.

Malik choked on his water and very nearly spat but choked it down and tried to ignore the amused look on his wife's face.

The server came around a few minutes later and took their orders then disappeared again.

Hadiya's mouth was moving, her expression pinched in concentration; "I can't quite get it… What's the timing on this song?"

Malik closed his eyes and listened for a few seconds then began tapping his fingers on the tabletop in; "Salsa beat… A little faster than we're used to, though everyone else seems to think it's a slow cha-cha…"

Ezio smiled; "You dance?"

Malik hummed in the affirmative, eyes still closed; "You?"

"No… I really don't think you'd call what I do dancing."

"Couldn't be any worse than Altair… He looks like someone's electrocuted a zombie," Malik rolled his shoulders forward and bobbed back and forth in his seat. Hadiya nearly choked on her water trying to stifle her laughter.

Altair scowled; "I do not, I can dance well enough."

Malik shook his head, "You THINK you can dance, whether or not you actually CAN, still remains to be seen. All evidence so far points to the negative."

"Is that a challenge?" Altair showed his teeth, it was too devious to be a smile.

Hadiya hummed and swallowed her drink; "Oh, no… Nonono, no challenges, last time you two got into a competition you both wound up in the hospital!"

Ezio's eyes widened. "You fought?"

"And I won!" Altair said smugly.

"You cheated," Malik said and pointed at the end of Altair's nose. "You purposefully knocked me down."

"I did not, you fell on me, but I still held out longer than you did."

"What are you talking about?"

"Extreme Twister… I am much more flexible than Cranky Britches over there, even with one arm tied behind my back."

Malik rolled his eyes, "He knocked my hand from under me and we both fell. It was a tie!"

"No no no, I won! I actually got my foot on the blue and was free standing, you tried—your hand slipped and you fell on me!" Altair narrowed his eyes, "It threw my back out and he broke his nose when his face hit my head… It took three washings to get the blood out of my hair."

"Awww," Malik cooed; "Poor little princess had to wash her hair."

They glared at one another silently for a few seconds, Malik swirling his water around in his glass— then they were both laughing.

Hadiya seemed to wipe mental sweat from her brow and gave Ezio a look over the rim of her glass that said; 'Crisis averted, commence business as usual.'

"Alright, fine, go show off," Altair waved toward the dance floor dismissively.

Hadiya was already on her feet, pulling Malik by his sleeve.

Ezio watched them go, cheek propped on his hand. "You know, this is kind of fun… It's nice to have someone else to talk to."

"You're saying my conversation is boring?" His lips quirked up amusedly.

"No, it's… it's just nice, to see someone else being romantic… it kind of—I don't know— kind of makes you want to feel that way too."

"Oh, so you wanna be romantic? Candles and flowers and fancy dinners?" He drew little curling patterns on Ezio's empty hand with the tip of a finger.

"Not all the time, but—maybe—every so often it could be fun… When I was little my parents would have Date Night every month. My uncle would come over to watch us one Friday night—we'd eat junk food and watch scary movies while he slept on the couch—and they would go on a date and stay in a hotel… If I'm not mistaken that's how Petruccio came into existence—"

Altair laughed.

Ezio took a drink and pointed toward the dance floor; "Oh, look!"

Malik and Hadiya had taken the floor, off to one side so not to be obtrusive and surprisingly, Malik was a pretty good dancer. Ezio remembered watching _Dancing With the Stars_ with his family and hummed approvingly, "He's not bad! Not bad at all!"

"Just hope they don't start playing Tango music… Jesus, Tango is how Kalila, Gadil and Zafir came into existence, and that is not something anyone needs to see."

Ezio rolled his eyes; "It can't be that bad."

"Oh, it's not bad at all… It's fucking awesome, that's the problem… Malik is GOOD at Tango… And from what I hear, he's also pretty good at the horizontal hustle, but—"

Ezio cackled and had to cover his mouth to keep quiet.

Altair was red in the face as he motioned to them trying to keep himself from grinning; "It's the hips, see? It's all in the hips."

Oh, Ezio saw alright, he could barely look away. "Hmm, maybe he can give me a few pointers… for you know, _dancing."_

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	11. Chapter 11

WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN OZ!

I have literally had the very life stolen from my veins by a despicable man who should not have been trusted.

Charlie, former Hubby and cheating scumbag left me and recently tried to take Steve away. He almost succeeded completely, but I've managed to retain my mommy rights.

All of my email accounts and social media accounts were changed and after many months of fighting I finally got my email address password back and thankfully, was able to get a reset for this and a few other accounts.

That being said, I am going to be transplanting all my fics to A03, I've found a home there, and hopefully, now that shit has calmed down a little, I can get back to work doing something that brings me joy.

So, there. That's where OZ has been.


End file.
